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[WP] Superman announces on the news that he is going to kill each person on earth, one by one, until humanity is wiped out, in alphabetical order.
What would happen? What would happen from a local to a worldwide level? | The Kryptonian had just concluded his announcement to the General Assembly of the United Nations, and the hall was deathly silent.
Silent, that is, apart from a low hum.
As Kal-El watched, a large spacecraft materialised in the middle of the hall.
Long legs extended to the ground.
A walkway opened up, and a tall, alien creature appeared in the mist that often accompanied such entrances, cloaked in extravagantly draped golden robes with a peculiarly alien collar design.
The alien's gray-green skin shone in a particularly lustrous way.
Its flattened head moved from left to right, and settled upon the Kryptonian, whereupon its slitty eyes may have opened a bit wider, though it was difficult to tell.
It held some kind of exclusively alien device in its alien hands.
The creature approached the Man Of Steel.
The assorted heads of state in attendance were rapt in attention. Who was this being? Perhaps it was an instrument of destruction for the human race, summoned by Superman? Perhaps it was a new protector, here to save humanity?
The visitor took one look at Superman, looked down at its device, muttered "Oh, that's right" to itself, looked back up, and uttered in a derisive tone: "Pompous git."
The crowd waited.
The creature sniffed. "Right, that's you told." It tapped at the device, as if to cross something off a list, and appeared satisfied. It turned back towards the ship.
The crowd were unsure what was happening, and murmurs began to break out.
Suddenly, the alien stopped, turned its head back round to humanity's former protector (and current avowed destroyer) and commented:
"I heard what you said, by the way. Seems a bit extreme to me, but whatever works for you, I suppose. However, I must say - only one planet? In linear order, in normal spacetime? Bloody amateur."
Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged (for it was he) hopped into his ship and buggered off to wherever and whenever the computer told him that the next irritating lifeform due a verbal barb was to be found. Did that count as two insults? Probably, but he'd done it before to that naive twerp Arthur Dent, and the Kryptonian probably deserved it and more.
He didn't stick around to hear the screams. They didn't really concern him. When he was ready to insult those examples of humanity that he hadn't yet got around to, they would all be healthy enough to realise they were being served. | Mr. A Aaron Aarons had always hated his name. It was after all a clerical error at the hospital that led to the unique handle. His mother had told him that she wanted to name him Adam Aarons after his grandfather, but somewhere in the haze of drugs and child birth she signed A Arron Aarons and the name just kind of stuck.
Mr. Aarons, like most of the world, was watching Superman give his press conference live from the steps of the famous Daily Planet newspaper office in downtown Metropolis. Everybody in Mr. Aarons office was huddled around the break room television trying to hear what the greatest hero the earth has ever known had to say.
"Yes Miss Lane, you heard me correctly. Time after time I have I have saved this planet from certain destruction. I have battled mad men drunk with power, robots from other dimensions, villains more powerful then the human mind could ever fathom, and for what? So the human race could continue to hate one another? To take advantage of each other for profit and power? To slowly poison the very planet I have risked my life to save?
The truth is Miss Lane I am tired. Tired of everything. So yes, you and the world heard me right. Every last person on this planet will be killed in alphabetical order. Starting Now."
A Aaron Aarons felt his heart drop, then felt his neck snap. A blue and red blur was all his coworkers ever saw. | 2015-07-12T22:00:28 | 2015-07-12T21:32:54 | 120 | 16 |
[WP] Incredible magical abilities, as explained by an incredibly bland college textbook | ## **Part 2: Arithmancy, as related to the Subtle Sciences**
The emphasis in this section is on understanding the meaning of Arithmantic numbers and their interpretation as relates to the Subtle Sciences (Potion-Making [see pg. 235], Predictions [see pg. 984, and Transmutation of Matter [see pg. 3214]), rather on memorization of the Arithmantic values of objects both living and non-living or on how those numbers are derived. For help with the derivation of Arithmantic values, see previous chapter or pages 24-37 in our accompanying Arithmancy And You! Workbook.
**2.1: The Anti-Number**
In order to undertake a true evaluation of the impact of Arithmancy on the creation of Potions, Predictions of the future, and the Transmutation of Matter, we must first understand that every Arithmantic value has its Anti-Number(s), and the way in which this affects each of the Subtle Sciences.
* In Potion-Making, ingredients must be balanced so as to always have a complete sum of zero. Understanding the Number and Anti-Number of different ingredients will allow you to balance their properties against each other until you have arrived at a whole and perfect solution.
* In the art of Prediction, every object and person which factors into the Probability Equation can be evaluated for either its Number or Anti-Number depending on its role in scenario. (See **2.4** for continued explanation of the relation of Number and Anti-Number to role.)
* In the Transmutation of Matter, the Number and Anti-Number of matter (both living and non-living) has a relation to the general ease of the Transmutation and the probability of a perfect success. **NOTE: It is unlawful to Transmute any living thing into an object outside of its range of perfect success.**
**2.2: Deriving the Anti-Number**
The Anti-Number is the name given to the operation that goes backward from the Arithmantic Number of an object (living or non-living) to the object itself. Since the Arithmantic Number of an object does not determine its value completely, you must consider the application of the object in order to determine its Anti-Number.
In this way, each object will have only one Number but may have a variety of Anti-Numbers depending on its use.
Thus we sometimes say that the Anti-Number of a Number is the Number plus its arbitrary use.
Take as example, the use of gold in a potion. While the Arithmantic Number of gold would ordinarily be written as
ξAu
the Anti-Number will be preceded by a half-curved line and followed by an indication of its use (for a complete list of uses, see the chart in **2.4.1**) thusly:
⌠ξAu[enchantment] | ~~I love Peter~~
***Polymorphism.***
Invented by Greeks legends about Zeus trying to bang chicks as a golden ~~shower~~ rain or a bull wtf
*NOT A LYCANTHROPY!* <<<<Important for the test
Polymorphism is the ability of a being or creature to completely transform its physical form or shape into that of something else. The idea of shapeshifting is present in the oldest forms of totemism and shamanism, as well as the oldest extant wtf who dictates so fast you old fart
Research shows that it's something about descendants of who? Ask Mary later
There is also anymorphism which is similar but it's not so don't *DON'T FORGET ABOUT IT*
<3
<3<3
<3<3<3
<3<3<3<3
<3<3<3<3<3
<3<3<3<3
<3<3<3
<3<3
<3
***Pyromancy***
Setting things on fire, you know that
Fuck, ask Mary to show her notes later *THIS WILL BE ON THE TEST!*
***Summoning spells***
LOL Naruto
You summon stuff through astral portals. There may be questions about portals on the test. Ask Mary to copy stuff
First discovered by the Chinese warlock Shang Something in 2nd century B.C. To perform you need to mix blood with oh fuck it
Just ask Mary.
_______
More? [Here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Scandalist/comments/4n4iu6/authors_message_welcome_new_readers/)
| 2016-08-27T10:30:15 | 2016-08-27T10:05:30 | 60 | 13 |
[WP] You were warned that your newest crew member, a "Human", had vastly different biology from all other known races. This mad made very clear when they drank all of the galaxy's strongest known poison, saying that they "needed a drink of water." | We were told our first experience with a "Heyumin" was to be dealt with caution. A lifeform from the planet the heyumins called "Erff," though they pronounce it a bit differently than I am able, was considered a forbidden territory, as ordered by the Hazard Treaties of year 12903. A cruel planet with skies of oxygen that rusts technology, leading to crashes on anyone approaching, and the main topic of the treaty, water.
Our biosystems require imbalances in chemicals to create motion, and then life. A fully neutral substance with such tiny molecules of just two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen such as this quickly seeps into our bodies and halts reactions, killing of organ failiure, suffocation, and brain damage within 15 seconds, a horrifying experience. The planet even held massive flying bodies of this water in its atmosphere, as well as amounts in usual air.
The planet held Chlorine-Sodium chemicals, known as salt, which quickly absorbs our vital bodily fluids through our digestive system's walls on digestion, causing improper flow of nutrients to all parts of the body, crippling or killing.
There were no known immunities to any of these, until one day a ship illegally landed with a stolen advanced, oxygen-resistant, watertight ship, and they discovered something no one expected: civilization. These heyumins quickly became famous, and our new crew member was the first one we met, Arden Johnson.
I pilot a chemical research ship, used to test properties of hazardous materials. Our heyumin's first impression was of fear, as they promptly got arrested for holding several unsafe containers of water and salt, but were mysteriously approved when they found he was a heyumin. We were forced to wear our protection suits to prevent harm to ourselves.
The heyumin spoke in a voice of much higher pitch than ours. "What is wrong with fese \[these\] people! I haven't gotten an edible meal or a good drink since I left Erff! I'm parched!" They spotted one of our tubs of water in our poison lab, opened the lid, and despite our rush to stop him, he said "Finally," and dunked his face in to drink. I even shrieked in horror, but quickly thought of sorrow.
I went over to a control panel to write an accident report while my assistants went to take the obvious corpse away and decontaminate the water. But the human stood up again, carrying the empty tub of our water supply, and said, "Fat's \[that's\] so satisfying, I really needed a drink of fat \[that\] water." My assistants gasped, and their eyes showed clear surprise. We now knew what my boss meant about dealing with heyumins.
Now the heyumin lives in a section of our hazardous materials section, the only place where they are allowed to take off their isolation suit, in the place where we wear the suits anyway. We had to sterilize the place because they produce a mix of the poisons salt and water, to disperse into the air, when they get too warm.
Though, they have been a very valuable crew member, keeping our systems running, keeping our containment systems secure, and handling our materials in the hazardous materials section with more speed than one can with the suits, and have saved my assistants on multiple occasions against material leaks.
Once, our ship was raided for its poisons by the Ernin. they had no isolation suits, and the heyumin was there at the time. He took off his isolation suit, and managed to fight off the intruders. Though, it wasn't that long of a fight, because he just grabbed and spat at them yelling Erff curses as they died from water contact. End entry. | "That's poison."
"Poison? No way! It's Dihydrogen Monoxide. H2O. Water!"
"And also poison."
"Ah, you must be fucking with me. I'm positively parched, pass me a cup!"
My limbs hardening in fear as I passed the container to the human, I wondered, what in the name of Blorgon I did to deserve meeting this... creature? Who thinks that even *pretending* to drink Grade A, Level 1 poison, stuff that can literally melt your soul, would make a good prank? Heartless, I tell you, absolutely irresponsible.
Anyways, he wasn't pretending.
He filled the cup with 980 times the safe amount to be carried in Maximum Protection. My body had gone from rubbery tentacles to hardened bark, literally frozen in fear. This human is holding so much poison in an unsafe container that I could be arrested just for being this close to it.
He raises it to his mouth. By Blorgon, I think I'm starting to snap.
He gulps it down in one go.
My tentacles go absolutely limp, sheer relief flooding through me. And then they go ballistic.
"Whoa whoa whoa! Calm down Atir, why are you so worried? It's just water! The purest I've ever had, tastes real weird if I'm being honest"
He... spoke? What?
"You... you're alive? How?"
"You can't be serious. You're telling me water is poisonous to you guys?"
"TO THE WHOLE GALAXY YOU COLOSSAL MORON! HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS?!"
"There's no tricks here, I'm just-"
And the human dropped dead.
See the thing is, that was pure Water. With absolutely 0 impurities. Humans drink ... water, with a host of impurities that apparently boosts their functions, once absorbed into their body. Unfortunately, pure water, with no impurities, has the opposite effect. Due to it being so "empty", it leeches all the nutrients directly available to it as it passes through their rudimentary digestive system.
The water absorbed so many nutrients that the human's brain simply stopped working, and soon after, his heart too.
"A good story Atir, but The Intergalactic Court is a place for truth and truth only. For spinning such lies in the face of ju-"
"I AM TELLING THE TRUTH."
"Silence! You dare interrupt the Libra Supreme?! Murder of your coworker is forgiveable, but this is too much. Death awaits you." | 2020-05-18T13:04:11 | 2020-05-18T11:33:08 | 216 | 103 |
[WP] An elderly couple takes to petty crime to see their superhero kids who no longer call.
(edit) Wow this took off. Wanted to Thank every one for taking the time to share their wonderful stories.
This idea started at the end of my day looking at my phone and seeing maybe the third or forth missed call in a week. To late to call back and my days are so packed wrangling my own Superheroes. I get the feeling one day when the calls are no longer there that I will wish that I had been able find the time to get to more of them.
Anyways Thank you again to Writers and Readers.
| "Honey, that's a lot of forks."
"Five hundred and fifty three boxes."
"A whole lot of forks."
"And, yet, the kids still aren't here."
Mabel stepped back from the wall of plastic forks that had been stashed in their garage. She looked around, "Maybe if we start stealing spoons..."
Rhett shrugged, "I like sporks."
"Do they even sell sporks at the Piggly-Wiggly?"
Rhett sighed as he made his way to the main house door. "Maybe we are going about this all wrong. Maybe we should be hitting up the Walmart instead of the local chain places. They have security cameras everywhere. They are quicker with the cops."
Mabel followed Rhett into the house. They made their way to the kitchen, where newspaper clippings covered every inch of the walls, cabinets and fridge. Clippings of their superhero children performing acts of bravery. Stopping robberies. Fighting the criminal underground. Rescuing people from disasters. Uncovering murderers. The list seemed endless. They were always busy living up to their status as the world's greatest superheroes. Mabel and Rhett were so proud of them. Only it had been a long time since they had seen them in person. Six years, four months and eight days if you asked Rhett. The kids had even stopped returning their calls. The last sign of communication Rhett had received from them was a text that read, "Still alive. Fighting aliens. Luv you."
That was two years ago.
Rhett and Mabel understood their kids had a life of their own but enough was enough. They were still family. And family keeps in touch with each other. The end of the world scenarios be damned.
Mabel was the one who came up with the idea of turning to a life of crime to get the kids' attention. "Teenagers do it all the time. Turn to pretty crimes to get their parents' attention. Shrinks call it, "cries for help." We can do something like that."
"What? Arson?"
"No. No. Never. Nothing where people can get physically hurt. I am thinking more like vandalizing walls. Or prank calling."
"Can't do prank calling anymore. Everyone has caller IDs on their phones."
"You know what I mean. Simple things. Things that would raise red flags with the kids." Mabel's face lit up. "Maybe if we are good at this, the kids could throw us an intervention."
Rhett mirrored her smile. "Everyone come back at once?"
"Yes. I can bake a cake. Maybe even have dinner."
"They aren't going to like this."
Mabel shrugged at she went to the closet to get her coat. "If they don't like it then they should visit more often. How about we start with shoplifting? Is there anything we need?"
Rhett grabbed his scarf, "You can never have too many forks."
The two headed out the door to the car.
That was two weeks ago. Two weeks of stealing plastic forks and stashing them in their garage.
Rhett opened up the fridge and pulled out the milk. He poured himself a glass. "What about Target instead of Walmart. Get it? *Target.* Or do you think that is a little too on the nose?"
"No, we need it to be too on the nose. Honey, I love our kids. They are good kids but, frankly, I think it's time for us to realize that they are dense. We need to make a bigger splash. And I think you are on the right track."
"So, Target. Sporks?"
"Walmart. Guns."
"*GUNS*?" Rhett stared at his wife. He did not like the idea of that.
Mabel tried to wave away his displeasure with her hands. "Or weapons. Or better yet, we buy the ingredients to build a bomb. A big one."
"I-I don't know about that. We could be getting a visit from the FBI if we do that."
"Honey, we know the kids work along side with the FBI. What do you think they will do if they see someone trying to buy the ingredients to bombs in our little town?"
Rhett bit his lip. "They would come to us to make sure we are safe."
"Exactly."
Rhett finished his milk. "This is a ridiculous idea, Mabel. We could get in so much trouble if this blows up in our faces."
"If it blows up in our faces the kids will still come running to help us. Either way, we win."
Rhett closed his eyes and thought for a moment. "Okay. Fire up the computer. Let's see what we need to get to make a bomb..."
edit:spelling | Not an elderly couple, just a father.
John awoke to the same buzzing noise he'd been hearing for the last 15 years, the buzzing and beeping of his daughters' landline.
"Oh great another early morning, wonder if I'll see them today before bed." Mumbled John as he got up and looked at the clock, 4:30 AM it read. "Morning Karen." He says looking at the empty side of his bed and at the framed picture on the nightstand. It held the image of his late wife and mother to his daughters.
"Might as well get some work done today." As he puts on his black dress pants and white shirt, hearing his three daughters fly out of the house.
"Synthesizing test sample 030103.....
..
. Complete, traces of compound found, molecular structure unstable. Reproduced result: Negative." John's basement computer reads.
It had been 30 years since he had discovered a scientific fluke and bestowed super human abilities on his infant daughters accidentally. At first it was great, they could fly, were near invincible and had distinct personalities that both conflicted and strengthened their relationship. It was only after a year when their mother, Karen was abducted, they never got a ransom or heard anything besides that she was gone.
The daughters decided they did not want to leave it to the police and used their powers to search for her, stopping crime as they saw it.
Over their search they stopped monsters, villains, robbers and helped the local police clean up their city. They drew attention and adoration from the city, the Mayor declared them the City's protectors and had a phone installed in their home and his office. It was to be used for emergencies.
"Pft, emergencies." Scoffs John as he remembers these events.
On the day he lost Karen he lost so much more, his daughters. They were out all day and most of the night from the day that phone was installed. Putting out fires and dealing with the ridiculous emergencies the Mayor seemed to find.
Besides the occasional greeting he never interacted with his daughters anymore, they left before he got up and went to bed before he knew they were home. His attempts to communicate were met with anecdotes of their crime stoppage and how they couldn't give up searching for their mom.
"Synthesizing test sample 030104.....
..
. Complete, traces of compound found, molecular structure stable. Reproduced result: Positive." Beeped the computer.
"Holy shit, I did it, I made the compound again!" Yelled John.
He donned his protective suit, a helmet and visor, lead-titanium plated chest piece and slip resistant combat boots; and entered the testing chamber. He took it at a run giddy that he had finally done it.
Boom.
The compound exploded out of its dish and coated John, he had forgotten that it was pressurized inside and hadn't waited for it to drop before entering.
It was over, he lay on the ground. All his work had just been undone, his synth computer lay in wreckage around his basement.
He just wanted it gone, to be able to have his wife and daughters back to normal, but he wouldn't get that.
He opened his eyes and found himself floating in midair.
"I can fly?" Gasped John.
His experiment had worked, but not in the way he wanted. He wanted a cure to Compound X, now he'd infected himself and miraculously had super human powers as well.
Thus PowerProf was born, using his super hero powers Professor, John, Father, decided to dedicate his life to finding his wife and reconnecting with his daughters.
*Cue* Theme song. | 2016-04-24T10:53:42 | 2016-04-24T10:36:30 | 37 | 17 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | My hand reached out from the messy nest of blankets I was buried under, and flopped onto the buzzing phone on my dresser. Bleary-eyed and dazed, I dragged it under the blankets with me, refusing to let myself be fully roused from a solid nights sleep. "What the fuck," I muttered to myself, nearly mumbling the words out loud.
With a pained squint of too much brightness far too suddenly, I looked at the screen and saw - jesus, had to be hundreds of notifications, at least. Which was weird enough; me getting messages from 100+ people? Not enough people like me for that to be a common occurrence. But weirder still was they all said the same exact thing, "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." Bitches, it's basically morning, I thought. But before I could move, let alone shake the cozy cocoon of blankets from my head to look out my window and see what could possibly be so damn beautiful, my phone buzzed again.
I practically jumped as it shocked my hand. There was a new message, but this one said something different, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON." "What?" This time I actually did speak out loud. Frustration now fully replaced by curiosity and a racing heart, I kicked the blankets off and staggered down the hall to my roommates bedroom.
"Mon?" I called, knocking on her closed door. Mon was short for Monica. We had only been roommates for a short time - me, in desperate need of a new apartment, and her, with a newly empty house gifted by her parents - but friends for about a year. There was no answer. I tried again, "Mon? You up?" I shivered, which was odd. Sure, I was dressed only in a long tee shirt but it had been spring for weeks now; it should have been enough to feel warm in this house. I heard a loud THUD and bang from inside Monica's room. "Monica? Are you okay?" When still there was no answer, I threw open the door.
There was Monica, hanging from the light fixture. Her heavy wooden desk stool lay toppled on the floor beneath her. "Oh my god!" I screamed, "Monica!" I raced to her feet, held them, grabbed the stool and placed them under her feet. But her body had gone extraordinarily limp in such a short time. Phone in hand, I called 911. Busy signal. What? How...I pulled the phone away from my ear, my other arm still wrapped around Monica's ice cold legs. The blaring sound seemed to fill the air as I tried to comprehend how this could be possible. All right, no problem, let's try again, I thought, swallowing hard and trying not to shake. Busy signal, again. What the hell could be happening, I thought, feeling the stirrings of real panic start to fill my body.
There was a TV in Monica's room. I gingerly placed Monica's feet on the table, then ran to grab the remote sitting on her night table. I clicked, and my eyes were suddenly swimming in the bright colors and video of New Channel One. Almost instantly, I felt my knees buckle from under me. "Sources are reporting a sweep of suicides all over the nation," the newscaster was saying in a somber and serious tone. Her blood red lipstick matched her blazer as she went on, mouth uttering words that made me believe this all could only be a dream. "911 is overwhelmed with floods of calls. Police called to hundreds upon thousands of scenes of jumpers immediately shot themselves upon looking upward. No one is quite yet sure as to what the correlation might be-"
I turned away from the tv, staring down at the phone in my hand. I looked over to Monica's desk and picked up her phone. She too, had hundreds of the "look outside" texts. But the one she didn't have - the warning not to look at the moon.
My breath grew ragged, shallow, as I scrolled through her notifications and could not find a warning anywhere. And all I could think was: why me?' | DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON.
My eyes were barely open, bleary with sleep, but the incessant buzzing of the phone against the glossy black wood of the bedside table was just passing the point of ignorable. It took me a moment to register that the words were strange, holding their place at the top of the screen in bold, official letters, while the green icons of text messages scrolled beneath.
Do not look at the moon? What the hell kind of late April Fool’s joke was this? I scoffed quietly, glancing down over the stream of messages. Moon shit, moon shit, and… moon shit. Whatever. Had to be some kind of gag, and frankly, I didn’t have the goddamn time for it. Work came early in the morning, and I had… what, two hours left before I had to wake up in order to beat traffic?
Fuck this. I powered the phone off to quiet the buzzing, and dropped my hands down to rest on my chest, phone still resting beneath. And with the screen out of my line of sight, that was when I noticed her.
My wife was a beautiful woman-- The sort of beautiful that comes after a good decade of married life. That kind of beautiful with a few lines around the eyes, and a few strands of stray silver in her dark hair. Not that I could see them from where she was, standing silhouetted by the streaming moonlight pouring in the window, her hands resting lightly on the glass.
“Anna?” came my groggy mumble of a voice.
No response. She just stood there, staring upwards in the bath of silvery light. Was the moon always this bright? Or had I just never really noticed it before?
“Anna, c’mere,” I said a little louder, reaching out a heavy hand towards her and dropping it back down onto the sheets.
Nothing.
Concern slowly began to stir somewhere in my gut as I stared at her familiar outline. I could see the dust in the air, floating lazily in the shafts of moonlight that her body eclipsed. Her nightgown wasn’t sheer, but as awareness began to settle in on my suddenly very awake mind, I realized the light was shining straight through. That was far, far too bright for moonlight.
And that was when she turned her head, the movement just a little too slow, too smooth. In the perfect, bald light I could see her face. So familiar, with those smile lines around her lips, even with the neutral blank of her expression. Her dark brows lifted over eyes familiar in shape, even if the harsh shadows made them look like strange, blackened pits. And then she finally looked at me. I knew she looked at me. It was unmistakable with the way her pupils reflected the moonlight, like some nocturnal hunting cat.
Her lips parted and she whispered, her soft voice clear.
“The moon-- it’s beautiful tonight. Come look.
| 2022-08-07T20:43:05 | 2018-04-06T20:42:31 | 379 | 10 |
[WP] "Before I cure your wife, you must promise to give me the child." "What do you want with our child?" "Who said I wanted your child? You're feeding a pregnant woman magic cabbage, that's going to have an effect on the baby. I need to raise it incase they breath fire or something." | **CAST FROM THE GARDEN**
Growing up I was told everyone could breathe fire.
I was told many things. Like my father was my father. Like the world was not a place worth exploring. That the moon only shined in our garden. That visitors into the garden were intruders undeserving of its light. Vile beings we called them. Come to steal. Wreckers of the world. Men with horns. Unholy hell spawn, as my father would say.
It was the first night of summer — Sumarsdag, as I later learned it’s called — in my 14th year, when I learned the truth. At dinner that night the five of us ate. Myself. My father. And three younger siblings. They were girls.
“After dinner I want you three to go out and water the night breed,” my father said to my sisters.
“I can go,” I told him.
“No,” he said. “You stay. It’s an easy job. They can handle it,” he smiled at them. “Right.”
“Right, father.” They smiled.
He nodded, pleased.
After dinner they left and he called me to his library. It was dark and a cold breeze run down the chimney. The room whistled.
“Warm it up,” my father said and wrapped a blanket around himself.
I clapped my palms and pulled the air apart and spit a tinder. The stacked wood went up and the whistle was pulled in a rush upwards out the chute.
“Sit,” he gestured beside him and I did. He looked old. I’d seen it happen in the passing months. His skin crinkled and his back hunched. His hair lost it’s fullness and became a thin grey.
We sat in silence. His eyes lost in the ember. “I’m dying.”
“Don’t speak like -“
His raised palm silenced me. As it had a thousand times.
“Don’t speak,” he lowered his hand. His eyes never looked at me. “I know I haven’t been the best to you and your sisters. I know that you suspect there is much to the outside world I haven’t told you.” His eyes crept to their corners, checking for a reaction.
I was still. He’d taught me that. Don’t flinch.
“I know you want to leave our garden - don’t “ he waved me off in anticipation - “just listen. I know. I know. I leave for weeks. Sometimes longer. You stay, tend to the land. Tend to your sisters. The wall keeps the garden safe.”
He looked around at the stone walls. “The runes in the stones. I’ve told you.”
“Yes, father.”
“There is truth it what I have taught you. There is also fiction.” He faced me. “No magic can clean your mind of the truth, once I speak it.”
“That’s not what I would want.”
“I know,” he sighed. “I know you from the day you were born. Even though you are not my blood born,” he said quick.
I met the news with a dumb silence. I didn’t know what to say or ask or challenge. So I sat and listened. As he had taught me, best to keep silent and still when you are the one in the room that knows the least.
“Men cannot breath fire,” he said. “I can’t even breath fire. Sure I can cast it - but you .. you create it .. very different, boy. You are one of a kind. That is true. And I am a garden keeper, of sorts. And a man of magic, as you know. And what we keep here within this rune encased thousand acre garden, is holy.”
“I know.”
“You know what I’ve told you. And I’m telling you now, half of all you know, is fiction of my own mind. You don’t know I stole it. All of it. The land, you, the sisters - all of it.”
“I’m confused.”
“If you weren’t confused I’d think you a fool and be disappointed. I do love you. And,” he cleared his throat, “I’m fond of your sisters as well. Ask me, anything, quick,” he asked and I sat silent. “Quick boy!”
“Why?” I blurted. “How?”
“Why: For power. How: With the magic vegetation here.” He laughed. “You wouldn’t believe it, but I acquired you - your fake sisters - and all that came before you with the same con,” my father leaned to me. As if to brag. “Batch of magic cabbages. Cheap and effective way to con life from expecting parents.”
“This doesn’t make any sense,” I was still seated. I recall wanting to stand, but my legs were numb.
“It does. Make sense. I’ve done it many times. This time I think the gods are toying with me. Breath fire,” he chuckled. “You’re the first son of mine to have magic. That’s a puzzler, even to me.”
He paused. Lost in a stare. “Maybe that’s why I feel something for you. A mirror of myself, I suppose. Or true age is chasing at my back. Pah!”Tears swelled in my eyes. “Why are you telling me this father? Why now?”
“I am dying. You see it. You’ve seen it happening! A debt is owned to sustain this power — I am no young man you know. And they will be here soon.”
“Who?”
“Demons,” he shrugged, as if it were a normal response. “I would like to keep you here,” he rolled his chin in my direction, “but I know you. I’ve know you all your life. And I know there will be no living with you after you know the truth.”
I had never heard a demon scream. I never knew the sound a soul makes when it’s ripped from a body. That night I heard it all. Heard the parallel echoes of my sisters cry in agony. The screeching wail of a black mist as it encircled the lodge.
I don’t remember drawing blade and spinning to toe but I had - and no sooner was the dying man, my father, on his feet, with an easy palm raised at me. And I was frozen.
The door exploded in and the black whirlwind wrapped the room. A horned transparent wraith inches from my eyes - the only barrier keeping my soul under my ownership was my fathers doing.
“You got three,” my father huffed. “Three still pure.”
The mist directed to him and the fire went out in its wake and the room darkened.
“Two souls owed. Debt settled. One as a downpayment.”
My view began narrowing to a pinpoint and I saw the grey hair atop my fathers head roll back to black curls. Skin plumped as wrinkles turned smooth. His spine straightened and he became a young man before my eyes.
“When we meet again,” the young man that was once my father nodded. “Remember I spared you, because I care.”
He waved a hand and with it a rush — like a stone into a pond — freezing blackness engulfed me and sucked the warmth from every part of my skin. Frantic. I broke surface. It was night. A river was hauling me downstream. Nothing was familiar. No trees on the shoreline. No garden. Nothing I knew. Except the moon overhead.
By moonlight I found the shore.
By moonlight I found familiar breath.
By moonlight I spit fire and found warmth.
And by moonlight, I knew I had to find a way back.
----
Edit: typos.
r/wyrdfiction | The sun had set for hours and the night had fallen deep. No living sound present but the gentle rustling of midnight breeze blowing the grass and shrubbery, only all of the sudden it was disturbed by the urgent stomping of two worried parents.
"Ow! He bit me!", yelped Kieran.
In his arm he held tight a bundle of torn cloth, moving and wrigling violently as whatever inside was trying to break free of his hold.
"We're not too far! Hurry! Hurry!", Mira yelped, huffing out of breath following her husband behind.
Across the large empty meadow they ran, the location of bloody battle of old, towards a hill over the river where the wise wizard, Iain lived.
"Master Iain! Please help! Please!", Mira knocked loudly on the wooden door of the shack while Kieran restrained struggled to restrain the bundle.
As light clicked on from the second floor, moving quickly from room to room to the first floor, the door swung open as the wizard Iain showed up, grumpy over his disturbed slumber.
"Who's being loud this time of night?!", he yelled, but when he saw the state of the two familiar faces he warmed up a bit.
"Mr and Mrs. Fennleaf? What's going on?", Master Iain asked.
"Master Iain, it's Glenn! It's Glenn! There's something wrong with him!", Mira blurted, tearing up.
Master Iain looked passed Mira to her husband and the bundle he held with all of his strength. Understanding quickly, realizing it was their young child inside, he ushered them in.
"Quickly, put him there!", Master Iain pointed at a wooden table in his living room and Kieran dropped the bundle, almost throwing it.
As the cloth unravel, the three were horrified seeing the creature inside. It was no longer the sweet chubby boy with dark hair they knew, instead a monstrous creature of disturbing proportion.
It was unlike any other living being they had ever seen. An amalgamation of different creatures, it had the fangs of a direwolf, hairy and scaly body of a dragon and a lion, eyes of a snake, legs of a goat and a human, right arm of a fiery demon, and a face of death protruding from the skin of its left arm like tumorous growth.
Stunned speechless, the three were almost attacked by the nightmare creature before the wizard was quick enough to cast a paralysing spell upon it.
*"Bind"*, he said in a strange language.
The creature was frozen in place, like a macabre display of art.
"M-Master Iain...what is happening with Glenn?", Kieran finally spoke up while Mira sobbed uncontrollably seeing the state of her dear son.
Master Iain sighed and sat back.
"I told you, Kieran. I told you years ago! You should've let me take care of him!", Master Iain berated the distraught father.
"He...he was alright for years! How did this happen?!", Kieran yelled back.
Master Iain looked dead on at the creature, in terror of the unrelenting growth of more monstrous limbs around the creature.
"I told you the child was beyond saving inside Mira's womb! No potion or magic can give new life to an already dead being!", Master Iain replied.
"B-but...he lived! Glenn lived and was born healthy!", Kieran retorted. "I brewed the potion myself! Following the recipe from your magic tome!"
Master Iain shook his head. "Dark magic, beyond the comprehension of mere mortals like us. Not even I dare to try those recipes. I looked the other way for you, old friend-- your grief let me to. When the potion worked, I feared something like this would happen..."
The creature let out a roar as it broke part of Master Iain's binding spell. Quickly, the wizard redid his binding...
"Now please tell me...what ingredient did you use for the concoction you gave Mira?", Master Iain asked.
"I...I can't remember", Kieran stuttered.
"Think, dammit! No normal herbs can do this to a human being!", Master Iain berated the young man.
Kieran frowned, trying to remember the complicated recipe he brewed all those years ago. The strange names he read from the old pages of the tome were too difficult for him to recall, even when they were translated to the common tongue. All of them but one...
"Magic cabbage", Kieran opened his eyes.
"Magic what?", Master Iain raised his eyebrow.
"Magic cabbage, that's it! One of the main ingredients I recalled acquiring", Kieran said.
"There's no such thing as a magic cabbage", said Master Iain.
"Y-yes there is. I translated the name of that ingredient and it said magic cabbage. I found it blooming all over the field out there", Kieran pointed outside.
Master Iain's face dropped and he went pale.
"From the field...out there, you said?", Master Iain asked and Kieran nodded.
"Oh no...oh no...oh no...", Master Iain muttered in terror.
"What? What?", Kieran asked, worried.
"Those aren't cabbages, Kieran. Those are mandrakes! Cursed plants which only grow on a bloody battlefield! They bloom and ripened by the blood of the dead, absorbing the essence of the creatures!", Master Iain said, pulling his grey hair frustratingly.
"That field was the plane where a mystical war took place! Many mystical races fought and died there! You fed your son the countless souls of ancient creatures!", Master Iain yelled.
Kieran's heart dropped.
"B-but...but...how come he was fine for years?", Kieran asked, still in denial.
"Because you fed the potion to Mira and she shared half of it with your boy. The potion took longer to take effect...", Master Iain answered when he suddenly paused.
His pale face turned, seeing passed Kieran's shoulder.
"Mira...also drank the potion...", he muttered.
Kieran's eyes widened and slowly he turned following Master Iain's fearful stare...
One would hope they see the face of their loved ones the moment they die, only for Kieran she was no longer there. Instead, a disgusting set of sharp teeth growing on Mira's mouth lunged onto his face.
r/HangryWritey
Edit: a few corrections | 2022-01-04T18:50:46 | 2022-01-04T18:09:01 | 80 | 60 |
[WP] You've lived an unhealthy lifestyle for most of your life. You decide to clean up your act. Later you discover you have a latent superpower. | When they found the tumor in my lung, the solution was simple. Talk to my doctor about the chemo treatment, prep my family for the bad news, etc. It’s not rocket science. Everyone knows someone with cancer.
But when I found my power, I didn’t know what to think.
Who knows how long it’s been inside me. All I know is I can create ice out of thin air. At first, I was lucky if I could make frost. Now, a glacier the size of a house is child’s play.
I’m not exactly sure of the science behind it but apparently, cigarettes have been fucking me over more even the Surgeon General knew. Pumping hot tar and smoke into my body hindered my powers, preventing me from learning of them sooner. It wasn’t until I kicked the habit that I unlocked what was truly inside.
Sucks, really. If the oncologists are right, I’ve only got another year at the most. And with shitty lungs, I can’t run like I used to in my prime. My childhood dream of becoming a superhero has been obstructed by my own foolish mistakes. If only I hadn’t started such a stupid habit years ago. If only I had quit sooner. If only I had more time to make things right.
And there’s my dilemma. What could someone like me – an under-exaggeration of an Average Joe – do with my blessing and curse? It can't go to waste. As far as I know, I’m the only one my kind. So I did what any rational person would:
I decided to use my powers for evil.
With only a year left, what was the risk? Shoot me, I’m dead. Let me live, I'm still going to die. The only difference is that I'll have a ball. After all, there’s no such thing as morality when both ways lead out. I just decided to choose the road less traveled.
The world didn’t see it coming. I cleared out enough banks and raised enough hell to permanently brand my name in the hallow halls of infamy. I even have thousands of people online supporting me, as if I’m some kind of messiah. I think Mom’d be proud.
So here’s my open invitation. Try to shoot me down, if you can. Fire may have stopped me before but not any longer. No, I don’t think anything can except this ticking time bomb in my lungs.
But hey, I'll still say quitting smoking was still the best thing I’ve ever done. | My life just goes to show that man can subsist on fast-food alone,
With cigarettes and alcohol my doctor says I’m illness-prone,
I haven’t exercised in years unless you say that eating counts,
While huffing glue and smoking meth, I never quite seem to surmount,
These habits and circumferences which only grow from worse to worse,
I’d die but the sad truth is I won’t fit into the biggest hearse,
One day I had a hankering, it was a growing urgency,
For cheesy fries but mom had left, this constitutes emergency,
I rolled out of my bed like Kool-Aid man I broke right through the wall,
I found my latent superpower now they call me “Wrecking Ball,”
I tumbled down my street the slightest gravity increased my speed,
Propelled by physics and by rumbling stomach and my need to feed,
The supermarket aisles toppled, I grabbed food, it wasn’t hard,
I was king of everything, a non-blue Violet Beauregard,
“We love Katamari, but we don’t love you,” the townsfolk said,
Pitchforks in hand and torches too, they wouldn’t stop til I was dead,
My time had come and gone and it was over I had had my fun,
A morbid, obese tumbleweed, I rolled into the setting sun.
| 2015-07-01T10:57:01 | 2015-07-01T10:52:41 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] Years of being a graveyardkeeper next to a necromancer cult, you've grown adept at slaying reanimated corpses, too adept. the locals have started thinking you're a paladin. Just because you kill undead... and suddenly can perform miracles, and can sense evil intent, doesn't make you a paladin. | I walked into an empty coffee shop at 10:00 PM.
I saw a cute barista gaze at me before I opened the glass door. She turned her back at my and adjusted her outfit.
“I’ll have an extra large black coffee,” I said. It was going to be another long night at the graveyard.
The barista faced me. She’d unbutton the top of her blouse making it hard to maintain eye contact.
“No need. It’s on the house,” she said with a smirk.
Goddammit. I hate it when this happens. I took out my wallet and withdrew two dollars and placed it on the counter top.
“It’s okay. I can afford it,” I told her.
She didn’t ring up the register. Instead, she poured me the extra large coffee and served to me with a cookie on the side. I pocketed my money, took the coffee and cookie and headed towards the exit.
“Can I ask you something?” The barista said right before I opened the door.
“Sure.”
“Did I just make you feel uncomfortable? I didn’t mean too. I just started this job and wanted to show how you’re appreciated around here. Please don’t tell my boss.”
I sighed and looked at her.
“You didn’t make me feel uncomfortable. And no, I will not mention this to your manager, but I’m getting kinda fed up with the misconception of who I am.”
She cocked her head. “Aren’t you the one who kills the zombies?”
“Well, zombies are already dead so killing them makes the whole thing redundant. But sure — I am the one who prevents a horde of undead beings from storming the city.”
“That’s what I thought. So how did I misconceive who you are?”
I walked back towards her and placed my food and drink on the counter.
“Because that’s what I do, but who do you think I am?" I asked gently.
“A modern paladin,” she whispered. “They’re the ones who smite the work of necromancers. Paladins are smart, bold, a master of combat. They’re usually as wealthy as a physician, and easy on the eyes.” She sounded like she was explaining an ideal future spouse.
“Right you are, but I am none of those things.” I combed back my salt and pepper hair to show a receding line. I lifted the edge of my lips and revealed a row of black and missing teeth.
I continued, “I’m hideous looking — someone who’s pale skin would turn red the moment it felt the exposed sun. I am not smart, but I can dig a 6 foot hole quicker than anyone you know. I am not wealthy; I live in a shack outside the memorial center’s lawn. And I cannot wield any weapon. Miss, I’m nothing more than a grave keeper.”
She gazed at me as if she was a child who found out Santa wasn’t real.
“But then, how do you slay the undead?” she said.
“I cram a shovel through their neck,” I said. “Usually you can hear a corpse scratching on their coffin — sounds like a mouse scampering in an attic — about an hour they dig themselves through the dirt. All I do is wait for them to show their rotting faces, and when I see them, I put the shovel’s blade through their esophagus.”
The barista winced and gave a disapproving look.
“Their head pops off without effort. Sometimes — if I get bored— I’ll let one pull itself out of its hole and meander around the yard. That allows me a little creativity with my kill. I typically go for their legs first, crippling the son of a bitch. They turn their eyeless gaze upon me before I —“
“You can stop,” the barista said. She didn’t appear to be interested with anything else I had to say. She put her hair up and buttoned up her blouse.
“Uh, are you sure? Some of the games I play with them are quite funny. Like one time —“
“Please. No more,” she said and backed away from the register.
I picked up my coffee and cookie, turned around, and walked toward the door.
“Hey!” the barista called out.
“You need to pay for that!” | “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I say looking at the pale, bloated hand pulling itself out of the ground. “He’s only been down there three days!”
I shout this to the house bordering Sunset Lawn Chapel and Cemetery.
I work at the cemetery. My name’s Peter. The local’s call me Paladin Peter because of my certain skills. But I’m just a normal guy who likes to do his job well.
At first the dead rising was alright. I mean it was part of the job description for an entry-level graveyard keeper in this town. But back then we’d only get a few stray necromancers raising the dead. But now that the *Posse of Crypts* (yeah, that’s what they call themselves. Real original thinkers.) moved in next door it’s become a nightly occurrence.
I place my riding lawnmower into fourth gear and scoot on over to the rising corpse which has its arm out to the elbow now. I feel the bump and grind as the lawnmower blades do their work.
They don’t pay me enough money for this shit, I think as I take a drink of my beer, almost spilling a little as I hit a particular chunky part… probably the elbow. The engine drops low, almost stalls, then picks back up.
You gotta nip ‘em in the bud when they’re first coming up or you got a whole mess on your hands. I mean I can take care of ‘em if they start walking, but it’s just a hassle and a mess. If you clip off their arm, like I did to that man right there, they think twice about coming up out of the ground—necromancer or no.
I’ve become somewhat of a local hero since I took over for Ben. He wasn’t very good at his job. He was eaten alive by a particularly persistent patch of zombies after he passed out drunk one night on this very same lawn mower. There is still a bite mark in the foam seat from that night. The manager showed it to me and told me to look at it whenever I start getting sloppy.
Ben was a good guy. He had a good laugh. One of those that fills the room. A week after we buried what was left of Ben, I had to take down his reanimated corpse with a pickaxe through the brain. I’m still sore about that.
The town didn’t like Ben very much though. He’d let quite a few zombies loose. They even had to put up zombie crossing signs near the graveyard. Some of the local enthusiasts would come out with their 4x4s just to wait for Ben’s slip-ups and run down the freelancing zombies.
Paladin Peter don’t let that happen.
But this *Posse of Crypts* that moved in next door, they’re putting my reputation in jeopardy. I used to only have to take down… what? Maybe 2 or 3 zombies a week. Now I’m doing that every night at the least. It’s hard on the body. Hard on the mind.
Tonight, I’m gonna go over and talk to this cult. I mean look at this house, it’s painted black. Who paints a house black? And with red pentagrams on it too. How cliché can you get.
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | 2021-01-31T09:49:35 | 2021-01-31T09:27:30 | 279 | 191 |
[WP] Write a serious, adult story in a style normally intended for children.
Think fairy tales, nursery rhymes, picture books (without pictures, probably), educational stories. The intended age range is loose, e.g. everything from *See Spot Run* to *Make Way For Ducklings*.
The important thing is that the seriousness of the story should be at odds with a format we normally associate with unambiguously happy endings or simple morality tales. | Young Jackie and Peter were quite the young pairing,
Both popular, beautiful, loving and caring,
They met in their high school; fell heels over head,
They walked and they talked and they both shared a bed.
They did *that one thing* that the kids are all doing
(and let us be clear, so you're not misconstruing),
They did the one thing that makes babies appear,
They did it a lot, from the front, from the rear.
And, who would have guessed that the doing they did
Did what doing it does - it produced them a kid.
Young Jackie had tested, the Clearblue was clear
That they both would be parents in less than a year.
But Peter was angry; his future was fading,
The thought of a nappy was simply degrading,
He argued and blustered and pleaded his case:
"Just think of the money! The stress! The disgrace!"
Young Jackie, she listened, she heard Peter's pleading,
She thought, and she thought. Then she noticed the bleeding.
She paled, so did Peter, they drove to get treated,
The embryo's journey abruptly completed.
They drove home in silence, the space in between them
A gulf (though you'd never have guessed if you'd seen them),
They split, they grew up, went to college, grew old,
Young Peter and Jackie, their story now told.
| Note: Rather than a [WP] tag, you probably intended to use [CW].
> **[CW] - Constrained Writing**
> This is when a limitation (or forced usage) of a word, letter, etc. is put on the writer (WORD/SENTENCE COUNT LIMITATIONS ARE FF, NOT CW!) You should, however, give the prompt more direction than just the constraint.
| 2014-05-13T07:00:57 | 2014-05-13T04:27:51 | 40 | 10 |
[WP] Always wanted to be an assassin, but every contract dies by coincidence instead of your hand
Since childhood you were raised and groomed to be the most capable assassin in modern times. Your family has even led you on this path through social grooming. Nothing in your life has ever pointed you towards today's definition of "life" and by default you became an independent contractor. To this day every contract you have taken has succeeded by circumstance without your involvement making you the foremost professional in "accidental" death. Today you finally start questioning why. Are you blessed, are you cursed, who is the person that is the foremost assassin that has never killed anyone EVER?
EDIT: WOW, great stories here, this came out better than I thought. Thank you all for your stories. | They hired me because of my reputation. Not only was I known for my family, but also that my methods were untraceable. Each one of my 43 contracts so far died in what appeared to be accidents; A slip and fall out on a daily jog, a patch of ice on a winding cliff-side road, an overzealous night with a hooker bringing on a heart attack, a stray peanut down the windpipe. Everyone saw me as some kind of "maestro" for the coordination and creativity it must have taken. They had no idea.
I planned for weeks ways to take people out. Scouted locations. Watched habits. Learned weaknesses. I had all the tools ready, garrotes, sniping rifles, knives, poison, bombs, you name it. I planned out every single one to the nth degree. Then every time I lined up to take the shot, stood in a dark alley ready to lunge out and stab someone, or sat hiding in their closet with a pistol, they'd drop dead seconds before.
For a while I thought someone was trying to get in on my jobs. Maybe make a name for themselves or discredit me or my family later. But after 10 hits there still wasn't any sign of another contractor. There weren't any threats or taunts. The only thing I could think of is that they were playing a long game. So I just kept taking the jobs. Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, and still nothing.
After that I started to suspect my mother. Oh she acted like she wanted me in the business. She trained me right along side my father. Her training though was always about defense and hiding and getting away quickly, while dad was always showing me how to really get in and close to get the targets. I thought maybe she was just trying to keep me safe. But then I started keeping track of where she was through dad and the contracts she was taking. One day she was on a job in Phoenix and I was on a job in Paris and my hit came out on his hotel balcony. I lined him up in my sights and as he leaned on the balcony railing, it just gave way. A four story fall and a broken neck. My mother is good, but his room and hotel choice was purposefully random. It couldn't have been her, or really anyone for that matter.
I had gotten so paranoid about another contractor that I started watching the people around the target more than the target themselves. I even hired sub contractors to be my eye's and ears during a hit. That only helped to foster a new reputation as "THE MAGICIAN". Other contractors thought I was showing off by pulling off hits right in front of their eyes without them seeing how it was done; Like killer sleight of hand.
Then one day a chance encounter with another contractor made everything clear to me. David Pageant, a pompous windbag with a bevy of nasty looking kills under his belt was constantly asking me to join his little coven or warren or whatever stupid name he called his bunch of circle jerking buddies. I'd told him a hundred times I wasn't interested and he'd always retorted that maybe something bad might happen to me someday, that maybe I needed protection that friends brought. It was so cliche.
I told him to just go die. Which he did about 45 seconds later. He winked at me, turned, stepped off the curb, bent down between two parked cars to pick something up and a speeding pizza truck knocked his head sideways right where he knelt. He died picking up a quarter off the street. At first it was just such a funny coincidence. Then it started to fester a little bit. What if there was just something about me. What if I could kill people without actually doing anything.
So with my next contract I tried it out. I did my usual research, watched for patterns, learned about the target, and then I picked my moment. I walked right past Rod Smith, a local crime boss, right as he and his body guards went to pick up pizza and payola. I smiled at him, looked at the body guards and thought "you're all going to die." Then, a few hours later came the reports that Rod and his gang had died of carbon monoxide poisoning in the basement of the pizzeria. It had been their safe-house to talk and sort cash for a couple of decades. But with all the money they still neglected the furnace, and it paid them back. By the time they realized something was wrong they were too disoriented to unlock all the locks on the basement door and died piled up on the stairs. Some of them still gripping money as if they would pay for someone to let them into heaven.
I got a bonus for taking out Rod and the guards and putting a big dent in the local syndicates operation by exposing that safe-house. Then came hits 42 and 43 that went down in similar "accidental" ways. An aneurysm and a diagnosis of cancer followed by suicide. Not anything I dreamed up, just random stuff. I wished them dead and they were. That was it. I wasn't a maestro. I wasn't a magician. No more need for flashy names, expensive weapons, backup plans, or stakeouts. I was Death and I was unavoidable.
| I've always been the best.
There are naturals in every field. Science has Einstein, Basketball has Jordan, and Art has Picasso. You've never heard of me, because I'm the best of Assassins, and by merely knowing my name you would earn yourself first hand experience of my skill.
So what exactly makes me the perfect assassin? Well, first off, the government has nothing on me. I've never been caught breaking a law, simply because I've never broken a law.
Allow me to explain.
All my life I've had terrible luck. And I don't mean the "my girl friend broke up with me on valentine's day" type of bad luck. I mean that the longest period of time that I've had without a cast has been six days. I've had salmonella, ebola, ecoli, and once I caught food poisoning from a steak so well done it tasted like a combination of shoe leather and charcoal. I lost my parents when I was eight, and everyone I've ever been close to has died in ways that have never failed to make the front page of the local paper.
But there is one rule to my bad luck- it will never kill me. Actually, I'm convinced it's programmed to never let me die.
When I was eighteen, and held the six shot revolver to the side of my head to end everything, there were six duds in the chamber. When I tried to slit my wrists the knife danced around my veins as if they were made of wet spaghetti. The one time I almost succeeded was when I was twenty two, and jumped off the top of a twelve story building.
I don't remember it being breezy that day, but the wind blew me back through a window on the eighth, the glass shredding my skin to ribbons but leaving me very alive.
The doctor that stitched me up stayed afterward to have a word with me, and I remember the conversation clearly.
"Son, you were very lucky to have that wind. But all rights, the fall should have killed you."
"Lucky, eh?" I said, chewing on the side of my lip.
"Yes, you were. I'm sure you have a bright future ahead of you."
And maybe it was the twinkle in his eye, of his kind face, or his sheer optimism in what he did not know, but I started to like the doctor. He visited my room twice before leaving that day, and I never did see him again.
Neither did his wife or kids, nor anyone else on staff. I've never seen a sinkhole swallow a car whole, but apparently that's a possibility.
It didn't take me too long to notice the trend. Spend too much time around me, fool fate into thinking we're friends, and you were as good as dead.
And now, three years after becoming a professional, I scouted out my fortieth target. He was blond, tall, and downing beers like the hops industry relied solely on him to survive. I carried no gun- there was too much chance that it would go off prematurely, just like all the unlucky sex I had had in my life. The bar was crowded, and as I walked forward to meet him, I stumbled on a bump in the entrance rug, colliding into him and spilling the beer across the countertop.
"What the Hell?" He said, standing up to wipe off his shirt where the dark beer had begun to take root among the white.
"Sorry about that, sorry about that. Let me buy you another. The name's Tye, Tye Floyd-Mary," I said, giving my false name while extending my hand.
"Martin," He said, accepting my hand.
"Well great to meet you Martin. What is it you do?"
"Corporate journalist," He said, "I do a lot of traveling. Try to keep businesses from overstepping their bounds. Yourself?"
"I'm more of a people person," I said, as the first round slid across the bar.
Three beers later, I was starting to think Martin was a real stand up guy.
There's nothing like being paid to make friends.
******
By Leo
For more stories please visit /r/leoduhvinci | 2015-06-11T19:24:31 | 2015-06-11T18:44:37 | 275 | 145 |
[WP] We had always thought that our ballistic weaponry was going to be ineffective in staving off an alien invasion. Turns out our weapons are actually quite... excessive. | Anna knelt and felt the alien's temple, a small thready pulse clear even through her combat gloves. It eight eyes followed her every movement, a look of what in a human could pass for fear grimased its mandibles as she quickly set about assessing the concusive damange. With precise, delicate movements she gently undid the air gap locks on the chitin armour, making sure the equalise the pressure as best she could. Rushing air moved into the created cavity, and it let out what she assumed was a whince as Earth's air pressure made its self felt.
A gruff voice sounded over her shoulder, "You sure you can keep this one alive? Last four suffocated and the Major wants this one for the brass."
Taking a deep breath, Anna looked up at the Corpsman leaning a bit too close, and nodded. "I think so. The bullets look like they only winded it, but I want to get it back to the medical tent to be sure."
Four marines milled around the shattered remains of what passed for an invader MRAPP, two posing for a selfie next to a pulped body. For all her time spent with the grunts since her activation, she marvelled at their ability to simply goof in the down time. That image would probably get back to the folks back in the States once the brass finally dealt with the comms jamming, so for now it was just them seeing alien jam spread halfway across the Russian steppe.
"You think they would learn by now, soft and squishy means Marine boomsticks." The Corpsman laughed at his own joke. "Fuck, its like they expected sticks and stones or somesuch."
It took effort for her not to audibly groan, their jokes were worse than her dad's, but it got them all through. "First Platoon's medic told me these fuckers can survive without six of their limbs, but fire a 30 cal into their chest and they just collapse." She finished up removing the damaged armour. "Just about done. It's stablised and those four can get a shift on."
The marines stepped up, busily hoisted the stretched, and hustled to the waiting Blackhawk. As it lifted off Anna followed it as long it was in view, psyching herself up for the next minutes and hours in the line. Soft and squishy was all good, but the Marines still had to do the dirty work. | When it comes to fighting a war against a superior race, you tend to naturally accept the fact that you're going to lose, 99 times out of 100. Today seems to be the 1, and it's all thanks to physics. Einstein must be rolling in his grave right now.
Thanks to one huge nerd whose name will be redacted or else he'd probably be killed tomorrow night by the enemy we're fighting, we've found a way to make ballistic weapons superior to plasma weaponry.
It takes a lot of effort to make a concentrated ball of superheated death move forward without dissipating. As a result of this, the projectile moves pretty slowly, slow enough that you can see and even dodge it at ranges of about 200 meters. Bullets, on the other hand, have no such problems, and are thus better.
And so, we devised a battle strategy: create a no-man's land via artillery, and then shoot through it and pray you hit something. It's been surprisingly effective; too effective, really. The bad guys just drop like flies. We made them retreat, and shot a few ships out of the sky for good measure. We won the war.
Well, we are winning, anyway, until they decide to glass the planet via orbital bombardment. But every victory counts, even the one before defeat. | 2021-05-19T05:06:14 | 2021-05-19T04:50:45 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] All your life, numbers pop into your head whenever you see different people. Over time, you realize this is the number of times you will see these people again. Loved ones have numbers too large to process, and most strangers have 0's. One day, you meet someone new, but instead of 0 you see -1. | "Is there anything else I can do for you...?" The waiter seemed to be trying to be the most disinterested waiter of the year; the monotonous voice combined with the phone in his hand at least gave that impression.
"We're fine," Laura says. As soon as the waiter is out of earshot, she turns to me. "Please tell me that guy is a zero..."
"Nope, seems to be a two. I did really enjoy the food here though."
"I guess I can suffer him two more times, though I'm glad it's not more." She giggled. "Man, I wish I'd have met you sooner. Your gift is so useful!"
I smiled. From the moment I first saw her, I knew we were meant to be together. Though I didn't know it in the traditional sense of falling in love; it's just that her number was about 15 times as high as the one of my girlfriend at the time, Karen. Of course the love came later; especially when I discovered she wasn't that weirded out by my gift, but found it useful.
"Dan, there's a guy behind you, acting a bit shifty. He's just constantly looking around, and... Well, I'd swear his armpits are looking greenish."
I grabbed her hand, and tried to assure her, "I'm sure he's just a zero," before looking behind me. There was indeed a man, and something did seem off about him. He had a bowl cut, a slightly too small yellow shirt with armpits that could be seen as greenish. Something about his skin seemed off as well, but while I was looking at him a regular old -1 popped into my head. I turned back to Laura. "Well, he's not a zero, but..." before it hit me. Was there a dash before the 1? I looked again, and this time I was sure; his number was -1.
"Oh god, is he high?"
"No, he's... he's negative one."
"Wait... what?"
Two men in suit, both zeroes, walk in the restaurant. They wear sunglasses, as if they try to make it as clear as possible that they're at some sort of secret service. One seems to be the elder one of the two, with salt-and-pepper hair, but other than that not much is visible. They join the man at his table, and I turn to Laura.
"Well, what do you think? Are they going to wipe the man so hard out of existence we'll have un-met him?" I chuckle at my own joke, trying to make a bit light of the situation, but Laura stares intently at the scene. Suddenly, one of the two men screams, "HE'S GOT A GUN!" I turn around , and see the younger guy quickly take some sort of highly modern weapon out of his suit, and fire some sort of laser at -1, who, indeed is holding a gun. -1 explodes in green gooey stuff, the stuff that you see in movies, while all I can do is sit and watch, like the rest of the restaurant. The older guy tries to calm the crowd. "Okay everyone, nothing to be worried about, just gather around and I'll explain things." I look at Laura, who's still as beautiful covered in green goo. She seems just as clueless as myself, so both of us just follow the instructions of the older suit.
"Okay, now look in my direction..." | When Herman Stewarts was a child he thought he lived in the matrix. It was the only explanation he could muster for why he would see 1s and 0s over everyone's head. When he was younger, living out in the country, the towns were smaller and the numbers were larger. For a long while his parents believed something was wrong with the boy. He would stare just above peoples heads all day and confusedly say the number out loud. Eventually he learned to keep the numbers to himself. Still, he would catch himself staring after the neon green numbers floating just above peoples heads. More than once he was pulled away just as car screeching its horn blurred past.
As humans are wont to do, Herman adapted to his odd gift, eventually discerning its significance. Sometimes, in a room filled with 0s, he would have fun and make an insane announcement or create a persona. Luckily Herman was a good man and never abused his powers (other than the occasional practical joke).
It was very easy for Herman to find his wife; she had the highest number of anyone. Herman's parents were gentle people, caring and kind. Their numbers, told to them incessantly when Herman was a child, had become a sort of nickname between them and Herman.
Herman was late to work one day and rushing to be on time. He loved the city for many reasons: central park in fall, the health benefits of walking everywhere, and the steady flows of 0s and 1s all across the city. On this particular day Herman was unable to stop and appreciate the flowing aurora. Unable, that is, until for the first time in his life, Herman witnessed a negative one. At first he believed the minus to be forced perspective or something in his eye. He was soon certain that the minus was attached to the 1 that was wondering away. He couldn't figure out what it meant and couldn't take his eyes off the floating figure. In fact, he never had seen anything like it. He also never saw the car that careened into him as he was stopped in a crosswalk on a green light.
When Herman awoke he dazedly looked at his heart monitor, the hospital clock, the faces of his parents and his doctor. He also couldn't help noticing the -1s floating over both his parents heads.
His mother was the first to notice him looking up.
"Hello again Herman. Do you feel better today?"
"Who are you?" Herman whispered as his glazed eyes wandered across the room unable to focus.
"See?" Said Herman's father.
"Same answer as always." | 2017-10-26T19:45:54 | 2017-10-26T19:42:45 | 68 | 12 |
[WP] You wake up one morning and find the devil at the foot of your bed. His eyes find yours, he taps your foot and says, "You're it," then disintegrates. | I was already awake, though unwilling to open my eyes when I felt the pressure of something settling on the foot of my bed. Stubbornly refusing to open my eyes, I attempted to will it away, hoping that it would work this time. When the pressure remained, I slowly opened them up a crack and sighed heavily.
A seven foot tall half goat, half man sat at the foot of my bed, completely enveloped in a cloud of sulfur. He had long, curling horns, long fingernails, and a truly devilish grin on his face. His hand was delicately raised over my leg, and I saw it descend with care, and silence. There was no time to escape, and I felt a gentle tap on my foot.
“You’re it!” he screamed and leapt up from the bed and sprang out the door.
“God dammit!” I shouted as I threw off my covers and raced out the door. Inside my head I heard a voice booming, *I didn’t tell him where you were, don’t blame me.*
I slowed down some as I rooted through the house, “Sorry, Dad. No offense.”
*None taken.*
After several minutes I gave up and decided to go make some coffee instead. Satan was probably halfway to Hell by now, and there was no way I was going anywhere near there without a cup of Joe in my system.
As I sat in my living room, building up the energy to chase after Satan, I saw a thunderstorm start to brew and a small idea started to form in the back of my head. After several minutes, the idea grew into a truly fantastic plan.
This game had started millennia ago when God decided he was bored and didn’t feel like running things anymore. So he proposed the game of Deity for the Day. Someone was designated as ‘It,’ and they had to run things until they tagged someone else. All lesser gods and demons were fair game, and since running the universe was difficult, it left very little time to hunt out someone else. Hence why gods and demons seemed to rise and fall over the course of centuries, rather than days.
Some of the old gods had gotten complacent, knowing that it had been thousands of years since they had last been It. There were probably a few who had gotten downright lazy, and would be easy enough to track down in their old stomping grounds. And fortunately for me, it had been a long, long time since anyone had sought out the old Scandinavian gods. I wonder how Thor is doing… | I suddenly awoke with a start, eyes blinking rapidly in the dark. It took a while before my mind registered something sharp tapping against my foot but slowly, I got up onto my elbows and stared at the foot of my bed. Dark, bloody red eyes met mine and a sinister smile made its way across his malevolent face.
“Hey Lucifer,” I sighed.
He let out a dark chuckle and gave one last sharp tap on my foot, making me wince slightly. It was time, I supposed. I expected it for a while, I just never knew exactly when but after being alive for over a thousand years, I guess I should’ve known this moment was coming.
“You’re it,” he breathes.
And then, gone.
I quietly groaned to myself and threw the sheets off, climbing out of bed. Once my feet were on the ground, I shuffled over to the mirror on the other side of the wall. Even without the light on, I could see my eyes changing. Darker and darker they became, until the brown in them had all but been replaced by color that resembled wine. I pulled my upper lip up and sure enough, my canines were beginning to elongate and sharpen.
I scratched the delicate points of my slowly forming horns.
Being the Devil was a hard job, definitely not something someone could handle alone.
It was my turn now.
| 2015-02-25T04:35:50 | 2015-02-25T01:50:55 | 213 | 134 |
[WP] The monster under the bed is secretly a kind friend to the child sleeping in the bed as the parents are always drinking and fighting with each other. | The kids weren't afraid of us because we were monsters. They were afraid because they thought we would hurt them like the most important people in their lives. It's unfair, which I why I do what I do.
Michael didn't deserve anything of what he got. His father was a deadbeat; his first high school job was his only job. He loved his bottle, but hated his wife. Truly, he should've married the former. Thinking that getting married would help fix his problems was the mistake he made. Dragging such sweet, kind souls into this was his second. He robbed a woman and their child of a life of happiness. Fear was the only thing left.
That's what drew me to Michael. I couldn't sleep seeing the silhouette of his father hitting Michael's mother, or the sound of glass shattering against the walls and windows. One day, I decided enough was enough, and I could try at least talking to him. I didn't want his dad to see me, so that's why I went under the bed.
Poor kid was terrified at first. I understood completely, and I let him go on and on about whatever he wanted to. I must've listened to him talk about comics and an apple he found in Mrs. Silverfield's yard for close to an hour. He said that he liked me being around to listen to him talk, and we agreed that, whenever he was scared of his father, of something at school, or of the dark, that I'd be right under his bed.
Michael gave me much more than I could've ever. He gave me a home, a purpose. He's grown up so much, and no feeling could ever replace how proud I am of him. In a way, I acted as his father, and I wouldn't trade that for anything in the world. | Most nights I give my friend a hug. I ask some nights if you want to come home with me. Some nights I bring some ice cream. Some nights I ask if you want to hurt a pillow.
Hang a little dreamcatcher. A dream is a friend awaiting to be. They are Nest’s for my kind. We live under the bed . Some say we are evil that must be destroyed.
We are your guardian when there is no one else . We cry when you get hurt. We love you when you have a good dream..
It hurts when you dream of hurting people. The anger the pain . The crying of a child is hurts more than we been seen.
We are your neighbor under the bed.
You can always come home with us and hide under the bed. | 2020-03-14T17:38:02 | 2020-03-14T16:31:57 | 27 | 15 |
[WP] Interstellar wars are quick, most species die of shock quite quickly. Getting shot was a death sentence. That was until humans joined the Galaxy... | "Why do you humans not die?" I asked my human captor.
"What?" He looks at me confused, at least that's what it looked like to me.
"You are beaten up, shot, bleeding. That is a death sentence for everyone....Everyone except humans. What makes you different?"
My captor laughed. "Is that the reason why you're so afraid of us?"
I looked at him angrily. "This is not funny! Many of the other races, including my own, fear you! Even right now I am afraid as my life is in your hands! But I need to know! I need to know..."
"Well, let me ask you a question. If I hit you with the back of my gun, what would happen to you?"
"Is this relevant?" I asked.
"Just answer the question and I'll tell you what you want." He replied.
"If you hit my head, it would knock me out for a day, if I'm lucky. Any other part would paralyze me for an hour due to the pain. There, you happy now?"
"The pain...I see." He mulled it over. "You guys have extremely low pain tolerance. Getting knocked out will cause them to wake up within a few minutes to a few hours, assuming there aren't any complications. An average human can walk off a punch in the body after a few seconds."
"Immobilize? A few seconds? **YOU** were still charging at us even while being shot!" I retorted.
"Oh, you mean that? I have to admit that it was painful." He said it as a matter of fact.
"That...that was enough pain to kill me 10 times over!"
"A civilian may die of shock from that much pain, but I'm a soldier. I was conditioned to handle that much." He paused.
"And besides, the pain is just there to tell me that I'm still alive. Even now I'm still feeling it." He admitted.
"You willingly subject yourselves to pain?! You guys are insane!" I yelled, terrified at the revelation.
"Hah! As if! That's called training! You guys do train, right?"
"...Yes, we do. We are trained to dodge enemy fire using harmless lasers."
"Harmless lasers- okay you know what? The moment you get back to your people, you better tell them to start training on handling pain. Start with something small then work your way up, considering I'm here to tell you that I'm escorting you back to your people within a few days."
"I-I'm free?" I asked.
"You've been imprisoned for a while, so you didn't know, but we actually managed to get into an agreement with your government to cease the hostilities."
"I...I can't believe it. I'm going to see my family."
"Yeah. I've been a P.O.W. myself in the past so I know what you're feeling right now." He said empathetically as he unlocked my shackles.
He helped me up and said, "Come. One of the terms was that our species exchange information with each other. Is there anything you want to find out?"
I thought hard about it, then answered "I want to handle pain better."
"Huh, I kinda expected that. Alright, let's start with something small like eating something spicy."
"Eating? What does eating have to do with handling pain?" I asked.
"Oh you'll find out in a bit..." He chuckled as he led me to the base's cafeteria. | The stars were massive, and humanity was new, most species had awaited the next enlightened age of a new species, and intergalactic law had held them in their patience until now. Now there were free game, equals to all whom would have at them. Of course, not all were simply waiting to see. Some saw profit.
The first of the star riders to greet them was also there first conflict, the Hyrumari, a species that occupied the nearest galaxy. One was not a enlightened species until they found a practical way around the simple confines of the law of light, but distance mattered even to those without that restriction.
The hyrumari were generally androgynous tri pod creatures with two slits where a mouth would be and thousands of tendrils around the shoulders, with these they could create biocurrents that produced a effect like magnets to lift nearly anything and manipulate it in 360°, and they were fearsome for their powerful minds to comprehend these shapes and master them, making them savants at 3d movements and spatial reasoning, and their unique upward facing eyes gave them a unique ablitiy to see anything but what was beneath them, which their tendrils would sense.
However the bipedal race they saw was strange, with forward facing ships, mainly dealing in longitude and latiude, chasing each others tails to ambush them like prey. The sphere ships only had one false side they was visually indistinguishable from the rest of the ship, so this would be another race that was easily bested and destroyed.
But when their ion cannons and gamma pulse wave cannons tore through the side of the enemy vessel it did not falter, merely losing some speed and weight it forced itself to face them and used it's considerable forward facing firepower to obliterate their enemies as fast as possible.
The hyrumari forced to retreat found the effectiveness a aerodynamic Lancer could be on hounding it's enemies, even in space. When they fled to their homeworlds they found that their ships weren't the only parts of them to be undying, they could rip and blast and obliterate anything but their cores and heads and they would still come, and even hitting there was not always enough to stop this morbid assualt.
In a matter of months they had dominated and were now assimilating the once thought impossible to invade hyrumari.
The rest of the star riders knew the die was cast, it was time to teach the newcomers the rules... | 2019-10-25T09:19:31 | 2019-10-25T08:49:00 | 131 | 41 |
[WP] Voldemort kills Harry Potter and declares war against the Muggles. He loses horribly, because unlike wizards - Muggles actually understand how magic works. | "Everything is quantifiable."
Professor Pendleton was addressing the first ever "Science of Magic" class. He knew he should be proud to be the first non magical teacher at Hogwarts, but he was just really nervous.
"Magic, for years...centuries, was thought to be just that, magic, undefinable, something that came from the aether. During that time, the entirety of the magical community was content to just leave it at that."
Many of the students stirred at that. Probably those who were connected to said magical community. It was still hard for some to admit that no one had looked into what made magic tick, or what made it necessary to do so.
"That all changed when Tom Marvolo Riddle began a genocide against the people known colloquially as Muggles. The non-magical community was caught completely unprepared for the first wave of attacks. Magic was so versatile. It could work as an impenetrable shield and more often an instantly deadly weapon."
More stirring. Professor Pendleton knew this was an uncomfortable, but necessary part of the lesson. These students had to know why, not just how the Muggles fought back.
"Many fell to Tom Riddles 'Death Eaters'. The Ministry of Magic did what they could, but could only do so much."
"After years of fighting, it would be the non-magical combatants who would be the turning point of the war. Doctor Joseph Langstrom had been working with Muggle born witch Hermione Granger in order to better understand what had always been taken for granted by the magical community. He was able to find that those who could wield "magic" were able to channel what would come to be known as the "energy of creation."
"Once he knew what was the cause of magic, with the help of Miss Granger he was able to harness and experiment with the energy of creation. When it was discovered what materials could insulate against magic, Muggles were able to finally defend themselves. When it was found that certain radiations were able to dampen magic in an area, it gave the Muggles the opportunity to fight back."
Most of the students were getting into it now. They were all old enough to remember when Tom Riddle and his ilk were suddenly repelled at Paris. That day would be burned into the memories of everyone who was alive for it. It was the day that everyone felt the weight of extinction lift.
"Everything is quantifiable," Professor Pendleton reiterated, "When you are finished with my class, I want all of you to be able look at not just magic but everything with a critical eye. Because it's not just about measuring and knowing magic, it's about being able to ask the next 'How', the next 'Why'. That my students is what I hope you gain from my class" | The death eaters struck the "muggle" world entirely without warning. Deaths were high, but no worse than other terrorist attacks. They too had casualties, and that's what allowed us to ultimately turn the tide against them.
Magic, it seemed, was real. Our physicists examined the effects of various spells and incantations and determined that manifestations of dark matter and dark energy were in fact the "magic" we were witnessing. Furthermore, whether a person or animal could experience dark matter and energy was entirely genetic; caused by a virus - a sexually transmitted virus that only affected a developing fetus.
Once isolated, it was easy enough to develop both a vaccine and an vector for inserting the active virus into an adult. But while that brought magic to the masses, that wasn't what stopped the death eaters.
The were contained by nullification, and made inert by vaccine.
Nullification is the process whereby a dark matter or dark energy manifestation is, in effect, cancelled out by particles of the opposite "charge" projected that in the right direction. In a sense, a magic user crafts a stream of particle physics n a certain way using words that serve to focus the user in the desired effect. The words are meaningless, and only serve as a psychological tool to help guide the thoughts of the caster.
The same effect can now be replicated using a digital caster; more rapidly and with generally greater effect. And so, magic was first weaponized, then later brought to the masses.
Very quickly the death eaters were contained, and very quickly, they were sentenced to both being cured, and then imprisoned for their crimes. Fitting as they were, the survivors anyway, among the most racist and destructive and individuals most had ever see.
Fortunately, the majority of humanity has embraced magic and in the years seems nice, integrated it well into our society. But that, is s story for another time. | 2017-07-17T18:32:14 | 2017-07-17T18:06:51 | 50 | 15 |
[WP] You just let a hungry-looking couple into your home to feed them. As you go to turn off the TV, you hear, “under no circumstances should you answer the door today. They are not what they seem. And whatever you do, don’t let them inside...” | "I repeat, do not-" the words never given a chance to finish, as the screen turned to black with a static sound.
"Everything alright, dear?" I heard the old woman call from the dining table.
"Everything is fine." I assured. *Don't panic.* I told myself, as I returned to the kitchen and began preparing a meal.
"Any preferences?" I asked, rummaging through the fridge in search of food to prepare.
"Oh, it's quite alright old sport. Anything that has a little flesh on it we would prefer. But please, we are already humbled by your hospitality. We will make due with whatever you serve." I felt their hushed snickering all the way from the fridge. As if the very breath tickled my neck. I could smell the telling of rotting flesh.
"Great, let’s see what I can do for you." I said, as I turned around with a smile.
"I hope you will forgive our intrusion. George over here can be so forgetful, especially in his old age." She mused.
"Margaret," the old man with white hair and a white mustache pouted. Disapproving of his wife's mockery.
"It is quite alright. It is nice to have company every now and then." I said, giving my best smile.
I cut into the meat, splitting sinew and muscle to provide the perfect cut of meat.
"The way your hands move, boy. You look like you know a thing or two about cooking." The old man looked genuinely impressed.
"I guess you could say that." I spoke while my hands did their work, moving with noticeable alacrity, moving nimbly as if playing notes on a piano. I had heard before that my cooking was like a performance, and they continued on as if carrying a will of their own while I addressed my guests. "I learnt from my father, it was how we bonded."
"Speaking of dear, do you live here alone?" The woman by the name Margaret asked.
I was quiet for a second. *Should I tell them the truth?* I pondered. If they realised I was lying, it would make things even more suspicious.
"Yes. I like my privacy." I finally said begrudgingly.
"Oh, I quite understand. What about a girlfriend?" She asked teasingly, affable mirth marking her lips. Or perhaps that was something else.
I shook my head, "no. I like having girls over now and then, but I find I am too busy to commit to anyone."
"Oh. What a shame, such young meat going to waste." She snickered. Some disgusting primal hunger to it.
I smiled, hoping it didn't look awkward, crooked upon my lips.
I put my worries to rest as the meat was ready and sizzled upon the pan.
The couple were quiet, staring at me while I cooked. Especially the old crone. I could see something vile and ravenous underneath her facade. Her white hair curled, the skin of her cheeks sloping like bags upon her face. How her wet yet shriveled lips snickered with a rising appetite.
"Food's ready." I finally said, bringing the plates before them.
I also prepared tea, offering them to the old couple and drinking some myself.
"This looks lovely deary. I wonder, what will there be for desert?" Again she snickered, throwing me a sardonic wink as wrinkled and old fingers cut into the meat. The way the blade parted the flesh, the way the juices ran like blood onto the white of the plate.
They took their first bite of the meal, and I took a sip of my tea. "This is -" the old man looked shocked.
"Oh? So you can tell?" I smiled, leg crossed over knee. "I figured this would be more to your taste. Does it sate your pallet?" I asked, as the two collapsed to the floor.
"What did you do to us?" The old woman asked alarmed, no longer did she have mirth to her voice.
"Me? Well, I was generous enough to feed you my most prized meat. The best of my dates I would carve up and store. Their flesh supple and tender, preserved perfectly." I leaned in. Even then I would recall the curves of the women who dined with me. Who smiled suggestively. How they unknowingly ate my previous affairs. Their scarlet lips matching the colour of their blood. The way my blade would cut it into them like a steak.
"Or perhaps you are referring to the paralyzing agent that I administered to you."
"You, what are you doing?" The old man asked.
"Oh, nothing that you aren't already aware of."
I grabbed the tray that carried the plates and made my guests face it, confirming their missing reflections. "Vampires, huh? No wonder you needed to be invited in." I threw it aside, gratified by the sound of the tray clattering.
"Now, I wonder how your insides will look?" My smile widened. I could no longer contain it, no longer hold back the manic smile that would come from me when excited.
One would think, the fact that the two were mythical vampires would serve to perturb me. To have me question the possibility. But all I could think was about how I would season them, *maybe cook with some garlic,* I chuckled at the mere thought of it.
My smile was like that of an alley-cat, and the chuckle that of a jester laughing at a twisted joke. I watched the hopeless gravity of the situation settle within their eyes. I watched fear nestle into the very marrow of their bones.
*Tonight, I will feast.*
***
/r/KikiWrites | ######[](#dropcap)
You return from the kitchen, two plates filled with last night's chili chattering nervously in your hand. You hope to God the couple didn't hear the announcement on the TV before you had the wherewithall to turn down the volume.
As you enter the living room, the woman comes up to you and takes the two plates. She smiles and says "thank you so much, let me take those from you."
She brings the two plates to the coffee table, placing one plate in front of her and one in front of her companion. Beside each plate the woman puts a small spoon. The man watches her intently, his features a bit unsure. You can hardly breath.
Once the two plates are set up perfectly in front of each of them, the man takes the spoon and picks up a small amount of chili. Bringing it to his nose he makes a show of smelling it. Then he exclaims, with too much enthusiasm, "This smells delicious!"
The woman does the same, except she brings the whole plate up to her face to take a deep whiff. She inhales for longer than seems biologically possible, and then places the plate back on the table. Cocking her head slightly to the left, she smiles broadly, showing you her incisors. They are sharp.
"This smells delicious!"
The two of them sit there on your couch, not touching their chili. Neither of them even bends down to take a single bite. They just sit there, smiling strangely, as you watch, your hands shaking.
"Well, help yourselves." You say, brainstorming a way out of this situation. "I need to make a phone call really quickly, I'll be right back."
The man rises this time, standing perfectly still, but shaking his head mournfully. "We tried using a public phone earlier. The lines are out. Isn't that right sweetheart?"
The woman looks down at the chili and then up at the man. "That's right sweetheart. We tried to use a public phone earlier. The lines are out."
You smile meekly, fear growing in your gut like a norovirus. You walk to your phone anyway and put the receiver to your ear. Dead. You hang it back up, panic inching around the corner of your mind.
The man steps forward. Just one step. "You really should relax."
From the couch, the woman mimics him exactly. "You really should relax."
Without thinking, you pull out your cell phone and dial 911. The two people just look slowly at each other as you place the phone to your ear. Nothing happens. You look at your screen and see you have no service.
"We borrowed a stranger's cell phone," the woman says, "something is wrong with the cell towers."
The man nodded at her, placid, and turns to you, "That's right, we borrowed a stranger's cell phone, something is wrong with the cell towers."
Their synchronicity makes you panic in earnest. Looking around for a weapon, you pick up the fireplace poker. You weild it over your shoulder like a baseball bat. "Get the fuck away from me."
The man and woman look at each other again, completely unfazed. "Nothing is wrong Thomas. Relax."
The woman repeats him. "Nothing is wrong Thomas, relax."
You have not told them your name is Thomas. You run, headed full speed for your back door in your laundry room. You lock the laundry room door behind you and spin around. You try to unlock the back door, but the lock won't turn. "Fuck! What the fuck?" You struggle with the lock for nearly a minute before giving up. With reckless horror, you swing at the glass of the back door with the steel poker but it does not break, no matter how hard you hit it.
Beyond the glass of your back door it is broad daylight. You see your neighbor standing on his porch, looking out toward his car. You yell out his name, over and over, as loud as you can. But he does not move. Not an inch. You watch him for ten more seconds and he remains frozen in time.
You turn around.
The man and the woman stand directly in front of you. "Thomas, we are hungry."
"We are hungry Thomas."
Slowly their jaws open, unlocking at the joints, wider and wider, until you are staring down the gaping holes of their throats.
You scream.
No one hears.
******
## For More Legends From The Multiverse
# r/LFTM | 2018-03-14T09:27:18 | 2018-03-14T08:53:00 | 167 | 58 |
[WP] A human is abducted by aliens who don't know what sleep is, and they get really worried when the human they found stops moving
By stop moving, I mean he/she falls asleep. | These things took me in the middle of a midnight jog. Scooped me up in a fly by with a bucket on the bottom of the ship. No glowing beam, no levitation, no time to say goodbye to anyone. Not a pleasant first contact. They shoved these plastic looking things into pretty much every orifice I have; I sprained my wrist and maybe fractured some finger bones keeping them out of my more favorite holes. I can confirm that there's probably a darn tough skull under their deceptively squishy looking faces. I still dunno if they were different devices or if they were all the same thing; maybe they just figured "put one in every hole, one of them has to work."
I figure the things were translators, and maybe some sort of data collection tool too, but after they put the two in my ears I could hear them as if speaking English. The one they lodged in my mouth still feels lodged in my throat. I guess they probably took a few other folks and learned how we spoke using the throat thingamabob; just a guess though. They're more about asking than answering.
They asked all sorts of nonsense. Asked whether we knew about aliens. Asked why so many of us were armed if we didn't. About why we don't live in the Oceans but instead insist on the deserts. Asked whether the quadropeds were slave species or whether we had some sort of symbiotic relationship.
I thought about lying, but I figured the truth would scare them more. I told them we had no clue that anything else was out there, that we live in the desert because "Fuck Mother Nature; we live where we want to," and that we're packing heat because sometimes we like to kill. We'd already killed every animal that tried to kill us along with a bunch that didn't; killing each other was a way to keep the game alive. I told them the animals left were kept in torture pens until we could kill them for food; a few we even trained to help us kill other animals. Those we kept around for fun. Told them that they if they were gonna pick a fight then we'd be the happiest little sadists in the solar system. That seemed to scare them. Good. Fuck em.
After a few hours, they squiggled out or slugged out or waddled out whatever the fuck it is that moves them around under those nasty, pulsating skin flaps. I tell you, adrenaline kept me fighting at the start; but I was tired as all hell by that point. It was late, and I just fought a bunch of aliens. I went to sleep; deep fucking sleep.
"Can you hear me, number 3!!??"
"Yes! God fucking dammit! what the fuck do you want; I'm tired!?" I was shocked awake by the blare of an alarm, the shouting of the fucking aliens, and the most revolting touch I've ever felt.
I'm still not entirely sure how the little nubs and bumps on the end of their arms grasp tools, but that weird pulsating touch is my new least favorite alarm clock. I can't make out facial expressions on humans the minute after waking up, and I sure as hell couldn't tell what this purple alien thing wanted. It was emitting a foul odor I hadn't experienced before, and the (muscle? Skin?) flaps by it's base were flailing all about.
"He is alive," I heard the thing yell, presumably not to me. "Number 3, we need more information from your species, are you expiring? Will you be able to answer our questions or are you expiring? We can acquire another if that is the case."
I was already "number 3," so I figure maybe a few others "expired." Fuck em. They're not taking any more people. I told em, "I'm fine you purple fuck, I was just sleeping. Leave the folk down there alone; I've already been cooperating."
"Number 3, what is 'sleeping'? Explain your conduct, we have your cell locked down and will not tolerate violence."
I stared the thing down for like five minutes until it hit me. He had no idea what "sleeping" was. The tranlsator thing must be turning the word into some unintelligible noise for him; and he's just repeating the noise, not the word. The things must work with shared concepts, not literal language, because I'd been cussing and throwing metaphors all day with no problem. It hit me that he had no concept of "sleep" at all. The thing probably assumed it was an act of violence from my earlier scare tactic rants; so, ya know, at least that was a success. Anyway, I figured I could probably spook him again.
"'Sleep is the micro death, the glimpse of the great void to which we mere mortal souls retire when we wish to see the face of God in our selves. You cannot know it, for it is ours alone. All of the earth sleeps, all of the earth sees the void filled with terror and delight. These visions of the void are 'dreams,' and they are locked from your kind, weak and mournful. Past and future are ours to command, that which was and is and will be and may be and cannot be. I have flown through your stars in my dreamship, and I have lead the instruction of my people with nought but my voice and my underwear, I have fought battles, I have taken mates, I have faced horrors beyond your conception. I have done these things without moving from this spot; I have become stronger than I was. The great void refills us and recharges us once per day."
The thing was puslating like mad, and the smell got worse than garbage night at the crab shack. I swear to god, that was my most poetic moment in life; and it paid off. The thing started yelling, but no words came through. I think it was just making primal yelping sounds, like an animal facing its predator. I had become the scariest thing it'd ever seen.
"Number 3, stand down!" Two more entered with some sort of metal piping draped round their bodies. They'd threatened me by brandishing the pipes when i hit the probing alien, so I figure they were weapons of some sort. "Number 3, you will not take this ship!" They weren't as panicked as the other guy, but they weren't flapping about as much. Maybe these were soldiers.
"Fuck it," I thought, gotta run with it.
"No, no, I don't need the ship. I don't need your lives. I need your obedience."
"Stand Down! we are in command here; we will put you down if you will not comply! We have put down others!"
"Oh, the others, yes. They survive in the void. They spoke to me, and soon others will know. Sure, you can kill me; but then we hunt. We hunt from sleep where you cannot find us; we hunt from the void. We see but cannot be seen; always watching. The ones left with bodies will carry out our will; our numbers and bloodlust is too great to contain." They were starting to stink more, and the flapping really picked up. These fuckers were scared too!
"Stop! What do you want? Can we not make peace?! We have not harmed you! We only came to learn!"
"You came with weapons. Children marching to war on the gods of death. You have already taken first blood. The others are gone from the flesh, and we have all been taken from our homes. I told you before, we have been content to fight each other; but you seem to insist on giving us a new prey! If you want peace, you must act quickly before the fury overtakes my people; for I have sent word in the great void through my sleep."
"What must we do? Please, we have not come for war! We will make it right!"
"Return me to my home, burn the corpses of the other prisoners and scatter the ashes over our oceans, and then seek peace with our leaders. You must go to the Eastern Coast of the Northern half of the continent you found me on. Fine the pentagonal temple we have made in the land of the aluminum capped obelisk and the statue of the seated man. Prostrate yourselves before the men inside the structure, but do not let yourselves be seen before you enter. you would be killed on sight. The men inside will direct your fate!"
I swear to god that was my second most poetic moment, and it fucking worked. They made me witness the funerals, but I figure that wasn't so bad. I wouldn't be able to find their families, but I did want them to rest here, on our own planet. The ashes deal was something I'm pretty proud of actually. Then they brought me home and fucked right off in the direction of D.C.
Nobody believed me in the local bar, but the story earned me a few drinks, the cheap ones of course. Fuck those cheapskates though. I just got a phone call with a sweet job offer; a fricken general is on his way to my house. I saved the fucking world.
| Dregaz leaned forward.
<<What... what is it doing?>>
<<Huh?>> said Rolkis.
<<Look at it. The human. It's... laying down. Why would it do that?>>
Rolkis sauntered over to the console Dregaz was seated in front of. She unfurled her thoracic limb and pulled the monitor closer to her. Dregaz was right, the human was doing something very strange. It had pulled its legs up to its chest and was laying on its side. And... its eyes were covered with some sort of skin flap that, up until now, Rolkis hadn't noticed.
<<Hmm. Well, what was it doing just before it laid down?>>
<<Good question, that made just about as much sense: it was sitting still, just staring at the wall, then wrenched its mouth open, wider than I knew they could open them. It almost looked like it was screaming, but no sound was coming out. I even checked the room microphones, but they were all the way up. Then it just put its hands under its head like that and fell over, flapping those little skin folds over its eyes.>> Dregaz looked up at Rolkis from his seat, <<Why would it blind itself? It knows we've captured it, right?>>
Rolkis looked at Dregaz, then both Relyans turned back to the screen and stared intently for several minutes.
Dregaz broke the silence, <<Well, Ma'am, whatever it's doing, I don't like it. Why would a creature, when trapped, choose to incapacitate itself? It makes no sense!>>
<<Very true Dregaz, it doesn't make much sense at all. Keep an eye on it, I'm going to go back down to the engine and make sure that all that rattling we heard upon entry wasn't anything too serious. Let me know as soon as you notice a change in its behavior.>>
<<Aye aye ma'am!>> Dregaz raised both of his hands and tapped his chest. Rolkis returned the gesture, then walked through the bridge hatch and began to climb down the ladder to the engine room.
________________________________________________________________________________________
Two hours passed as Rolkis tinkered with and replaced damaged engine parts. She took her time, it was tough for Relyans to focus on anything for this long, they were a pretty kinetic people, but the fusion cores on these older model saucers tended to be a bit finnicky and she wanted to make sure she got the refits done perfectly. All the while she kept an aural node peeled in case Dregaz needed her. But no alert came.
She wiped oil from her hands as she crossed the threshold of the bridge again, finding Dregaz right where she'd left him.
<<Dregaz, it's been two hours. I told you to let me know when anything changed. You better not have left your post.>>
The Relyan turned around to look at her. His mouth was agape and his eyes were wide and strained as he peeled them from the screen to meet her gaze.
<<It hasn't. Moved. Once.>>
<<What? It's been two hours. How could it have not moved?>>
<<I have no idea. It's just been laying there. Unmoving. Unflinching. It almost looks like it's enjoying it. I don't know what these things are, but pardon me ma'am, they're fuckin' nuts.>>
Rolkis pursed her lips, then pulled a seat up next to Dregaz and sat down.
<<Ok. You say it didn't move for two hours. Sure. Let's see this then.>> She crossed her three arms and the two sat in awkward silence, staring at the screen.
After a half hour, Rolkis let out an exasperated, <<GAH! MOVE!!>>
Dregaz startled and fell half-way out of his chair.
<<I told you ma'am! It didn't move at all!>>
<<What kind of game is it playing at?? Fuck, two and a half hours and no movement at all! I don't like it cadet, I don't like it one bit.>>
<<Ma'am, what if it's a trap? What if it wants us to think it's dead or something, then as soon as we open the door it unhinges its jaw and just takes a bite out of us?>> His voice was higher pitched and wavering now, the concentration of watching for so long was getting to him, <<I'm not dying for this! This was supposed to be a research mission, not a mind-trap with some hairless monkey-bastard!>>
<<Cadet, pull it together! We need to think. We don't know much about them, but apparently their mental endurance is outstanding. If it's this capable of long periods of concentration, who knows how long it's been planning a way out. I don't like prisoners planning. I hate to say it but I think we need to go in there and break its concentration. It could be setting a trap, it could be metamorphosizing, it could be communicating with its people. Whatever the case, the longer it does it, the worse our odds are. I'm sorry, but it's time to suit up cadet.>>
Dregaz gulped. He'd been dreading this.
_______________________________________________________________
Dave was in the middle of a nice dream about ice cream when he heard the door woosh open.
He immediately opened his eyes and looked in its direction. This was it! He'd waited his whole life to meet an alien and he was finally gonna get the chance to do so. He could barely sit still.
He could see the barrel of what he could only imagine was a gun of some sorts, slowly creeping into the room, shaking profusely. The thing that followed it was a three-foot tall green creature with legs very similar to his, but ending in three, large toes. The creature had two large arms on either side of its torso, and one smaller, baby-sized arm coming out of the middle of its chest, holding a smaller gun that was also shaking. In fact, its whole body was shaking under its armor, making a rattling sound from inside of the thick metal.
It slowly crept into the room, keeping its guns pointed generally in his direction as its arms trembled vigorously.
"Aw, little guy's nervous," thought Dave as the alien gingerly approached him.
"Hi there! I'm Dave!" he said, as he reached out his hand towards the alien.
"EEEccraazz GroOBNAZ!" screeched some horrible voice from a speaker on the cell wall next to him.
"Oh, wait!" he threw up his hands and waved them in a STOP motion.
<<DREGAZ NOW!! IT'S MAKING SOME KIND OF MENTAL SHIELD! TAKE THE SHOT!>>
A blast of green liquid erupted from the end of the larger of Dregaz's guns and carved a sharp tunnel straight through Dave's face.
He slumped to the ground, seeping cerebrum and green liquid onto the floor.
<<Phew. Good work cadet, crisis averted. That poor bastard almost had us. Now clean that up and get back in here, we've got work to do.>> | 2017-06-08T14:25:55 | 2017-06-08T14:15:05 | 168 | 37 |
[WP] A girl is having her first kiss. An old man is holding his wifes hand as she passes away. A teen parent is losing their child, while a man is getting married. Four different lives, one day - make them connect. | I didn't spend much time on my wedding vows. I didn't intend to keep many of them, anyway. My first vow was to always be honest with her. I broke that vow at the reception when she asked me how her hair looked. My wife still believes in pure, innocent love, so I do the song and dance. I bullshitted a few more vows for her benefit. Must've done a good job, since she was almost too emotional to say the words "I do."
I watch my brother give a toast. He's red-faced and needs one hand on the table to stop from falling down, but everybody is eating this crap right up. He's slurring a made-up story about how he knew my wife and I were meant for each other from day one. Even though he's too drunk to pronounce my wife's name, half the audience is in tears.
Not everything I said was bullshit. At the end of my vows, I looked deep into my wife's eyes, and I said, "I would do anything for you."
That was true. I would do anything for my wife. And I have.
If she knew about Brenna, it would kill her. It would cost me my job, too. I've been teaching at that high school for fifteen years, and that one mistake would've taken everything from me.
So I went to Brenna's house. I knew I could shame her into aborting it. Her parents had abandoned her years ago. Giving up on children was in her genes. It was tougher than I thought, though. I didn't want to call a seventeen-year-old girl a whore. But I did it for love. She should be going to the clinic any day, now. Might even be today.
Brenna lived with her grandparents. I came to her house when neither of them were home. On my way out, I encountered her grandmother. That complicated things. She knew. She threatened to expose what had happened. I'm almost positive she hit me first, but it's tough to remember. I didn't mean to kick her once she was on the ground. Not that any of that matters. I did it for love.
Brenna, God love her, agreed to stay quiet. She would say a burglar came into the house and attacked her grandmother. Last I heard, the old woman was in a coma. Her husband intended to take her off life support any day, now. Might even be today.
As I watch my brother give a speech, I see my nephew in the back of the reception hall. He steals a kiss from the flower girl. She turns red. It might be her first. Maybe someday she'll learn that there's no such thing as pure and innocent love.
Might even be today. | "They are so happy" the old man whispered to his wife. She nodded her head. Their cousins Lela and Tommy were getting married. The little old man, Richard, looked over to his daughter and her boyfriend. "Honey, look" He whispered. The old woman, his wife Sheila, whispered in reply "Her first kiss...". They stared in awe. "How sweet" Another couple, Joe and Haley, said in unison. Joe grabbed Haley's hand, and just like that, she started seizing. "Stop!! Call 911 someone!! You, with the grey shirt, call 911!!!" Everything broke into a panic. The bride's best friend and maid of honor, Lisa, who was only 17, looked around for her 2 year old daughter. "KATELYN! SOMEONE TOOK MY BABY GIRL!! HELP" In the midst of this chaos, Lisa looked to the door, only to see a man in a suit storming off with her daughter. She ran to her daughter's rescue, to find they were gone. The ambulance arrived, and wheeled Haley away. It was too late. They pronounced her dead at 3:23 pm. Joe, Shelia, Tommy, Lisa, and Richard went home. Joe fell asleep on the couch, Shelia in the chair, Tommy on the floor, Lisa in the bed and Richard in his car. They all woke up at 2:13 in the chapel. The old man looked to his daughter. She was sharing a kiss with her boyfriend. But wait, when he looked at Joe, his wife Haley was with him. "What in God's-"His words were cut off when she started seizing violently. Panic broke out in the chapel...
(Sorry if it's choppy or if I messed something up, I'm 13 so I haven't had much experience :P) | 2014-10-12T12:26:29 | 2014-10-12T11:13:44 | 1,194 | 45 |
[WP] A jobless computer programmer, while hacking at home one night, discovers a port to the Unirnet, an computer network made for a series of interconnected planets who have not yet discovered mankind. | From the moment that the connection was made, the entity known as "WhyteHaute" was struck by one thought above all others: This was taking *entirely* too long.
It was probably the fault of some old, neglected server in the back corner of an office in which the letters "IT" were only used to reference a Tim Curry film. That would certainly account for both the incredible lag time and the massive influx of garbage data. Oh, there were some recognizable bytes in there, but only a handful of them made sense.
Suddenly, there was a blip, followed by a single line.
1X:11:10:09:08:07:06:05:04:03:02:01
Taken at face value, it was little more than a broken and nonsensical string of hexidecimal code. Another glance, however, revealed a strange pattern. It *almost* looked like a string of numbers, albeit one written in Base-12.
A clatter of keys became audible.
\\net.send 12
As with before, there was a blip.
4545:0000
This was going nowhere. At *best*, these phantom lines were the result of some broken authentication program. At worst, they were the ramblings of some bored systems administrator with a penchant for inane puzzles.
Type Belong Other Altered Inquiry
Definitely a bored administrator. Well, that was fine.
\\net.send I'm not in the mood for word games. I'm just poking around.
\\net.send Shut me out if you can.
Another of those damnably long pauses passed before the response arrived.
Quantity Additional Necessary Pertinent Type You
That one *almost* made sense. Perhaps it wasn't an administrator after all, but rather a non-English speaker in some third-world country.
\\net.send This is WhyteHaute. I'm not doing anything destructive.
\\net.send I was just curious.
\\net.send Where are you located? What language do you speak?
The pauses were infuriating... but they seemed to be growing shorter.
Request More You Language
*That* was clear enough.
\\net.send I speak English. I'm from the United States of America.
\\net.send Where are you from?
Yes, the pauses were definitely getting shorter... and the responses were starting to make more sense.
English Language New Exclamation
Data Derive Computer You
United States of America Location Inquiry
WhyteHaute snorted quietly. Was this really the one person on the planet who didn't know where America was located?
\\net.send The North American continent? Between the Pacific and Atlantic oceans?
This time, the response came almost immediately.
Pacific Atlantic Oceans Unknown
English Language Unknown
English Language Derived Delay Apology
Computer You Slow
Connection Distance Inquiry
Oh, it was *on*.
\\net.send Listen, buddy, there's no way it's MY computer.
\\net.send This is a top-of-the-line rig.
\\net.send Also, the delay is getting shorter, for some reason.
\\net.send Now, look, if you don't want to say where you're from, fine.
\\net.send I've probably wasted enough time poking around here, anyway.
\\net.send Talk about your junk data.
The next response took quite awhile to arrive... but when it did, WhyteHaute felt a chill unlike anything in recent memory.
Sufficient Language For Understand Now
Your Data Derived From Your Computer
Opinion Your Location Different Planet
Communicate Via Unirnet
You Human Inquiry
What sort of a response was appropriate here?
\\net.send Yes. Are you saying you're an alien?
Negative. You Are Alien.
\\net.send I guess we're both aliens to each other. What's "Unirnet?"
Similar Your Internet. Many Planet. You Earth Inquiry.
\\net.send Yes, I'm from a planet called Earth.
Most Planets Called Earth.
\\net.send Huh. I guess that makes sense. Where are you from?
Earth. LOL. Expression Correct Inquiry.
\\net.send Hah, yeah, "LOL" means "laugh out loud" here.
Your Culture Not Interstellar Travel Inquiry.
\\net.send No, we don't. Also, you can use the symbol "?" for "inquiry."
Like This?
\\net.send Yes!
Low Temperature.
\\net.send "Cool."
Aware. Joke.
\\net.send Oh. Hah. Sorry. You picked up English pretty fast!
I Possess A Translating Program. Do You Not?
\\net.send We have people here who would pay an insane amount for that.
Cool.
\\net.send So, uh, yeah. Where is your planet located?
The dreaded pause returned. Seconds stretched into minutes... but at last, a reply came through.
My Progenitor Has Informed Me That I Should Not Reveal Such Things To Aliens.
I Am Sorry.
\\net.send That's okay. Are you... a child?
No.
Not a child, then. That was good to know.
Please Transmit Images Of Your Species' Mating Practices.
Oh.
Great.
A *teenager*.
First contact wasn't as glamorous as WhyteHaute imagined. | He hesitated for a moment, as he always did. The room was quiet and eerily dark, except for the light emitting from his two computer screens. Enter. The familiar, mechanical click. His scripts began to do the heavy lifting, issuing thousands of commands per second. He shifted his weight slightly and the chair bended, letting him fall back comfortably. He watched as text flickered all over the screen. It was a long shot, but it was for a cause he considered to be one of most importance. Hacking Comcast and doing some real damage. Scumbag fuckin' monopolies, he thought. He looked over at the picture of his young daughter, who he'd lost custody of while working his ass off to get his company running. An alternative, cheap, no strings attached way of access to the internet, and the name wouldn't be Comcast. An alternative, an idea. Run to the ground by the giant. The screen froze for a moment, and the man raised his eyebrows. It happened sometimes due to lag when too many commands were issues, but usually only for a second. This time was different. He scratched his patchy beard and shrugged. Of course it wasn't bug-free. He sighed and leaned forward, ready to head into the field of mines that was bug-testing, when a black box presented itself in the middle of the screen. DISCREPANCY DETECTED: 17 NETWORKS ONLINE.
He swept the mouse across from one screen to the other and rightclicked on Networks and pressed Inspect. A list presented itself with cryptic letters, which reminded him of egyptic hieroglyphs, or maybe the Letter Pokemons from his childhood memories. Another bug? Why had his scripts attacked internet sources? He wondered if he was about to dive into his neighbours wi-fi internet for a moment, but realized he'd already done that. Repeatedly. This was something else.
COMC - 1c was at the top of the list. "Sorry Comcast, you'll have to wait..." he mumbled. His mouse travelled down the list and clicked on a random line of symbols, right clicked, and pressed Connect. He stared at the word Loading... for a long time and considered to cross it when suddenly the backround changed. Both screens became white as snow and then moments later became filled with more of the cryptic symbols. He shook his head, still very confused, convinced he had somehow accidentally hacked into a top secret government program. The mouse raced across the screen again, and landed at a symbol, which he doubleclicked.
A image began to load, painfully slowly, like back in the days with Dial Up internet. The more the image loaded, the more surreal the situation felt. He gasped when the image suddenly rapidly finished loading. It depicted two human-like creatures with two legs, shaking hands, and possibly smiling. He couldn't tell. One was a light brown, almost orange colour, with holes on its neck like a fish. The creature also wore some kind of helmet. The other creature was dark blue and had horns stretching backwards across its head, yet had a curvature that reminded him of a human woman. In the backround were hundreds of equally strange individuals, cheering, holding up holographic signs with similiar cryptic symbols. He began sweating profusely and breathing heavily, as grabbed his nearby trashbin to vomit in. Was he dreaming? An unhealthy amount of arm pinches ensured him he was in fact not. Had he been caught by some kind of security anti-hacking system supposed to spoof him? Maybe. Then he noticed a button light up on the middle of the picture. He didn't need to understand the alien language to know what it meant. He clicked it, and the picture began moving. It was a video. The screen darkened as it played. The two individuals shook hands and patted eachother on the side of the head, then bowed before eachother as the crowds cheered. He quickly backed out of the video, his arm shaking. He clicked the various symbols. Some took him to other 'backrounds' with symbols, possibly webpages? The more he clicked around, the more strange images appeared. One depicted some kind of dinosaur with two legs and a large horn, stabbing what looked like a massive rhino, and a transparent device carrying aliens in it laughing. He backed out and went back to the list. It was going to be a damn long night. | 2014-12-01T10:44:43 | 2014-12-01T10:02:10 | 1,351 | 61 |
[WP] You are the God of small things and you were quite content with your lot-until the purge.Your temples lay burnt, your priests bathed in their own blood your priestesses shared the same fate yet only after being violated.They will pay for you are the god of small things- small not insignificant | They destroyed me. My people. The innocents I protected. They burned and pillaged and ravaged and...
So be it. I will hear their blood-wreathed prayers. Accept their perverse offerings of sacrifice. They cry out to the void to be rid of me- and thus, they shall have their wish fulfilled. The others amongst the divine held their tongues. My would-be murderers, in their cleverness, had left only the smallest of holes in their machinations to have me undone. Only the smallest. My new "followers" would get their due.
It began with the dust and dirt in their homes. Spotless and clean, they saw themselves reflected purely in their reflection, and for a moment I allowed them a small sense of satisfaction that they had triumphed. Then, I took the little things they noticed about their loved ones. The way the light catches her eyes, the way he touches her shoulder to say 'I love you'. Next were the little lies they told others. I did not pause to take joy in watching the fabric of their lives fray and unravel for lack of a little tact.
I withheld from them the little joys- no birdsong to soften the morning, no gentle breeze to caress their cheek. Not knowing they had placed themselves under my dominion, they spoke little prayers, seeking small comforts in their renewed faith. Small acts of worship that would reach noone, small comforts they would never find.
Within a week, their relationships had soured. A month, and their lives were in shambles. They would have been spared so much hardship, had they been shown some small measure of forgiveness, some momentary kindness. Such a shame they had wished those small things gone from their lives.
I waited, patiently, until I could remove from my unwitting devotees the last thing I could take from them- until their hope dwindled enough to become mine. | [Poem]
Desecrated altars every way
Thy own scholars lay limp,
Cut down by those who could not say
Taunted and teased by imps
And though they may feel righteous
Murder without consequence
I am the God of the Miniscule,
Threads of guilt blossom in sequence
A chain of motion set abound
Darkness eats at thy heart
Lives begin to crumble down
This delicious work of art
Men driven mad lose their heads,
From nigh but a spark.
As they descend wailing remorse,
I chuckle in the Dark.
Edit: It's 4 stanzas of 4 lines I haven't posted on here before so not sure why the formatting came out like this | 2021-12-03T13:52:35 | 2021-12-03T09:06:29 | 23 | 10 |
[WP]using his last wish to free the genie he was led to a well hidden cave. Upon removing a boulder blocking the entrance the genie said “thank you for using your last wish, here are some more, just promise me you’ll do the same for them”. Left Inside the cave we’re thousands of glistening lamps. | The palm of my hand was sore as I pressed it against the metal of the ramp and started to do a rubbing motion. Left, right, Left was the motion that my hand moved as purple smoke billowed out and a genie began to leak out of the lamp.
&#x200B;
"I am the great and power-"
&#x200B;
I held my hand up, "Great! wonderful! First wish; My palm to stop hurting. Second wish, I wish that all genies would stop bragging about how wonderful they are when they come out of the lamp, and third I wish for you to be free from your lamp and able to do whatever you wish!"
&#x200B;
The Genie seemed to realize that a group of his friends were already behind him as he would make a huh like noise before he just shrugged, granted the wishes and moved towards the group to show off his new legs.
&#x200B;
After about an hour of this, an idea hit me as I stepped over to Iligan and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "You are not able to create doubles as a wish, however can you double up on a wish?"
&#x200B;
He looked confused as he opened his mouth, and than stopped as if considering how to word it. "I suppose if the wording was correct, but sometimes you can make things more complicated by the wording alone."
&#x200B;
I walked over towards the next lamp. This one was a silver metal, with rubies all along it as I rubbed it and the genie would start to puff out of it like the other one did. When the genie went to speak, he'd open his mouth but than paused. "My name is Aladdin, how do you do?" There was another pause, "I do not know why I said that..."
&#x200B;
"Oh, I did it." I informed him as I was setting up the next lamp. "Alright, so I wish for a million and one quarters in a swimming pool, and I also wish-" I tried to debate on how to say this, but than realized something as I looked at my palm and than the rest of the lamps. "I wish every trapped genie in the world was kept in one lamp! I also wish that you were free."
&#x200B;
The genie seemed to be considering a few things, "You wish for all to be in one lamp?" He sounded skeptical.
&#x200B;
"Yes. It follows the rules, it's not additional wishes, nor is it making someone fall in love with me."
&#x200B;
The genie seemed to be considering before he gave a shrug and than snapped his finger. There was a sound of a thud before pinging of quarters hitting the bottom of ground. Than there was another snap of his fingers, but it seemed like nothing happened, although the bracers on his wrist fell off and his feet began to grow to signal that he was free. "Thank you!"
&#x200B;
I picked up the lamp I was preparing and when I rubbed it, I realized it was empty as I paused and mentally groaned. "Oh....No...." I realized my mistake, I did not say what lamp for the genies to all be in, which meant now I had to go through all the lamps to figure out which lamp had the genies in it.
There was a chuckle as I heard the genie behind me. "I warned you to watch how you word things." | It was fun; running around in our wild adventure, just the genie and me, getting p to who knows what with the wish always there to bail us out. And really; I liked the guy. Funny, a little eccentric at times but I chalked that up to 1000 years of solitude in a dented lamp.
However; those times were meant to be once in a life time; god I did not want to go over Niagara Falls on a flying carpet again (the spray clung to me like a drowning cat, I came out like an icicle after). And yet there was a nagging feeling throbbing at the back of my head; one telling me to do something. That or the gold champagne had finally caught up when me.
So, as I stood in the entrance, casting my long dark shadow across the thousands of glinting metal lights, I made a plan. The tantalising taste of beckoned my feet to take a small step into the we’ll start air, greed pushing me to take another. This-this would be fun.
~
Cops pulled around either side of an old shabby house located on the corner of Main street, Manhattan. It didn’t look like much, walls sinking and sagging at the seams; only just tall enough to be considered 3 story. Police poured I to the area, guns ready to unleash hell on whatever moved within their sights.
“COME OUT! WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED!”
Inside a young man stirred awake, lifting his tired body up and stretching with several satisfying pops heard. He plodded over to the window, noticing how the birds had stopped singing and the air tasted foul with apprehension. He peeled away an old curtain, small layers la dust effortlessly gliding towards the ground with the slightest disturbance.
They were here already. Interesting.
As the man meandered downstairs, he grabbed a jointing metal pot near the door, rubbing it slightly as if to wipe off some microscopic dirt on the emasculate surface. Suddenly, blue smoke billowed from the spout, pooling around him and collecting together to create a life form few had ever seen.
“Okay, your time to shine, sorry you were the last one. Please could you make them out there forget I exists, then you are free to go—as in your free,” the figure nodded eagerly, lips drawn into a wordless smile, “good; now I’m going back to be. Night!” And with that the ban store out the room, leaving an utterly confused yet excited genie to complete her tasks. | 2020-09-24T18:31:05 | 2020-09-24T18:00:31 | 165 | 99 |
[WP] Whenever in danger, you disappear and reappear in the room you were born in— without any clothes and cured of all injuries. | "Give me your money! Now!"
I looked at the man mugging me. His eyes were bugging out of their sockets and his pupils were dilated. Sweat was pouring down his face on this cold December night. He seemed out of sorts. My guess was that he was definitely on something.
"OK, OK, just take it easy. I only have $20 on me." I reached slowly into my pocket for my wallet.
"Then give me your credit cards! All of them!"
"Dude, look." I opened my wallet to hand him the cash. "I can give you the cards but there's no point. I'm just going to cancel them as soon as you leave."
I could tell this thought had not occurred to the man. He licked his lips, pondering. Then he smiled a slow smile revealing yellow, stained teeth. "Not if you're dead," he rasped.
Then he stabbed me in my stomach. I collapsed to the ground, bleeding profusely. "Ugh. Not again. Seriously?!"
I closed my eyes, waiting.
A few seconds later, I opened my eyes. I was back in the hospital room that I was born in. A nurse stood in front of me, tapping her foot impatiently.
She handed some clothes to me. "Hi, Jack. What happened to you this time?"
I stood up and stretched. My stab wound was gone and I was perfectly healed. As usual. "I got mugged. Idiot stabbed me in the stomach."
The nurse tutted. "Ouch. Stomach wounds are the worst."
I began putting on the underwear. "You're telling me. Can't I just get stabbed somewhere else for once? They always go for the stomach. Or chest."
The nurse shrugged. "Who knows?" She glanced at the clock. "But you need to go. I have to get back to work and my coworkers are going to start wondering why I'm taking so long in this storage room."
I nodded and looked around. They had converted this hospital room to a storage room. Just for me. After all, the patients kept getting freaked out every time a strange, naked man appeared in their hospital room while they were giving birth. Luckily their claims were dismissed as delusions brought on by labor pains.
The chief of the hospital and the nurse were the only two that knew about my unique predicament. I didn't know what I would do if I didn't have them.
Fully dressed, I gave the nurse a hug. "Thanks. I'll see you later."
"Hopefully not anytime soon," she muttered.
With a chuckle, I turned and walked out of the room. | It wasn’t that long ago that I was wheelchair-bound. I couldn’t take a step without someone nosing into my business asking if I needed help. Actually I couldn’t take a step at all if we’re being pedantic. One day I finally had enough and blew my brains out. Next thing I knew, I was standing in my bedroom naked and… well. Standing. I never figured out why it brought me back to my room. Maybe because my mom was one of those all natural types and gave birth to me there. It took me a long time to accept I wasn’t in heaven and even longer for the whole town to move on from the ol’ Christmas miracle. From that day forward I promised to appreciate life and this new chance given to me.
That bullshit attitude lasted a month tops.
Anytime I had any kind of problem or inconvenience at all, I can just kill myself as the solution. I was an emo kid’s wet dream. Bad cold? Overdose on meds and wake up good as new. Hangovers are avoided all together by making sure I get alcohol poisoning before the end of the night. It’s gotten to the point where I thought about offing myself just to save a little time. My phone gave a short buzz in my pocket indicating a text message. It was from my mom telling me dinner was in a few minutes. Well shit, I was on the other side of town. I pulled out my revolver, same one that let me discover my gift, and stuffed it into my mouth.
Appreciate life my ass.
**BANG**
| 2017-10-15T14:07:14 | 2017-10-15T13:55:56 | 27 | 15 |
[WP] "Apologies, human. Unfortunately, you were accidentally killed by a glactic federation officer during an altercation on your planet. Currently we are constructing you a replacement body, and in return for your ensured silence on our existence, I wanted to ask if you wanted anything... changed." | "As you know, we are currently constructing you a replacement body. But in return for your silence on our existence, we wanted to know if there was anything you wanted changed."
I started crying. The alien, an eerily bland human-looking being which I figured must be some sort of hologram or costume, leaned forward in their chair and looked at me in concern.
"I know this must be very difficult for you to process, we apologise for the distress we have caused. If you like, we can place you in stasis until your replacement body is ready and then wipe the relevant memories?"
They seemed genuinely concerned, that androgynous face wrinkled in confusion and consternation, which changed to flat out confusion as I started to laugh hysterically. They looked around the bare white room as though looking for a clue, then ran a hand through their ambiguously textured hair. A part of my brain that wasn't currently exploding wondered if they'd adopted human mannerisms to make me feel more comfortable.
"I- I don't understand. Are you happy about this? Is this a coping mechanism we don't have record of? Why are you laughing?"
I wiped the tears from my eyes out of habit before realising the temporary body they'd put me in probably didn't have tear ducts. When I'd woken up in this small room after being caught in the cross fire of what I'd thought was a terrorist attack, a small handheld device like an impossibly light tablet had been on the table in front of me, explaining what had happened. An alien criminal responsible for many deaths on planets I'd never heard of had escaped a prison transport ship, it said, and taken refuge on earth. I had just happened to be nearby when the retrieval team had turned up, and had been caught directly in the chest by a stray laser blast from the prisoner's hastily cobbled together weapon.
I stared at the hands of the body I was wearing - similarly bland, with a skin tone and facial shape which suggested they'd taken the averages of all the races on earth and stuck them on a human sized doll. It might pass as human from afar, but closer inspection showed that the skin had no freckles, no scars, not even hair or fingerprints. A sneak peek under the loose clothing I was wearing revealed no belly button, nipples, or genitals either. A cough from the alien snapped my wandering attention back to them and I offered them a watery smile.
"No," I said, "I'm not happy I died. It was really quite painful actually, I'm sure I'll have some sort of emotional breakdown over that later. But what you just said..." I smiled and shook my head ruefully, "I've been dreaming about something like this happening since I was a child."
The alien cocked their head sideways, another human mannerism. I wondered how far their knowledge of humans went, and took a deep breath. Even on a spaceship orbiting earth with no one to hear me but the person I was speaking to, revealing this part of my identity always made me anxious.
"I'm... transgender." I let go of the breath I'd been holding and paused to see if the alien would comment. When they didn't, I continued. "When I was born people thought I was a girl and so did I but I knew there was something different about me and I always wished I could have a different body because it felt like mine didn't fit right but everyone told me it was fine and I'd grow out of it but growing up was /worse/ because I got boobs and a period and I would look at other people and not understand how they could be happy with their body and there are options on earth but they're not the same and, and..."
I eventually had to stop for breath and I would have blushed if my temporary body had any blood, aware that I'd just word vomited on a stranger of a different species no less. Then, surprisingly, they smiled and started to laugh too. Now it was my turn to be confused as they laughed until they finally seemed to compose themselves. Still beaming and occasionally chuckling, they stood up and motioned for me to do the same.
"That's what you were worried about? Not a problem at all. Every species has people like you, regardless of how many sexes or genders they have. And our understanding of human genetics is far superior to that of even your best scientists. Come with me, sir, and we can create the body you've always dreamed of." | The first thing I heard was a whirring sound.
Everything went from black to bright white in an instant, hurting my eyes. The brick wall across the room stared unblinkingly at me and I closed my eyes to try and ease the pain.
I tried to stand up and was slightly horrified to discover that I couldn’t move, and upon further looking around I discovered that I was floating in an odd, clear goo in the middle of a testing room.
A creature that looked vaguely like a man was standing in the doorway, looking down at a clipboard. He seemed to be checking off some sort of list.
Though I couldn’t see very well, I could make out his purple skin, slightly-pointier- than-average ears, and a disproportionate build that confirmed his non-human nature.
Suddenly, he turned his attention to me. ̈ ̈Apologies, human. Unfortunately you were accidentally killed by a galactic federation officer during an altercation on your planet. Currently we are constructing you a replacement body, and in return for your ensured silence on our existence, I wanted to ask if you wanted anything...changed.¨
God, I could list ten thousand things I wanted to change about myself. But I needed to know more.
The man looked at me with concern(?) in his eyes. “Speak with your mind, the Saturians have much more advanced technology than that of Galactic Federation 3. I know you must have many questions.”
Damn right I have many questions!
Why am I here? I asked.
He shook his head. “That is not of importance right now, human. Just tell me what you would like to change.
Ok… I wasn’t happy with that answer, but I knew pushing wouldn’t get me anywhere. However, didn’t entirely know how to phrase my question. Can I change surface-level things or just, like...bones?
“I’m not entirely sure what you mean, human. You may change your hair or your facial structure, or anything in between. You may not change your personality. That is implanted in the state you are in as of right now.”
I didn’t want to leave any loopholes. The only thing I want out of this new body would be for it to be an exact replica of my own before I was killed, at a time when I was moderately healthy.
The man nodded and attempted to bow awkwardly. “Thank you for your specifics. Our construction team will work their hardest to meet your criteria.”
I was left in my puddle of levitating sludge.
____________________
Weeks later.
I’ve become accustomed to life on the Saturn airship. I’ve learned a bit of their planet’s history as well -- for example, they have been an “outcast” federation for many years due to their complicated history with the galactic government, and thus they have retained their original, pre-galactian name as a form of rebellion.
They also find my non-purple skin and rounded ears very intriguing.
They promised me multiple times that they will attempt to contact other planets to see if anybody else from GF3 is still alive and knows me, but they keep saying that the connection lines have been cut due to combat.
I don’t know how long I’ll be here, but they’re helping train me for a more peaceful life than the war. Hopefully we’ll be able to touch the ground soon -- the captains told me the ship’s about a month away from a Saturian base. | 2019-10-28T12:38:43 | 2019-10-28T11:46:38 | 39 | 16 |
[WP] 13 years ago, you were part of a government-funded project researching inter-dimensional travel until it was discontinued. This morning, you woke up normally, only you have an extra child, your home adress is different and the project is still going strong. | Hear me out. I know that what I’m about to tell you is going to sound ludicrous, and at the end of it all, I don’t expect you to believe a word I’m saying, but belief is not what I’m after. I’m just looking to share my story in the hope that those who understand will be able to make the change before it’s too late.
I work in a government facility called Dugway in western Utah. Far below the façade of the military training base lies the project I work on called Operation Phoenix. Operation Phoenix is a project that was ordered by President Clinton in the 90s as a sort of pocket-ace in the event a cataclysmic event occurred. After dozens attempts at time travel failed, my team was put on a sister project to study the possibility of multiple, parallel timelines. Instead of preventing the event, we would simply send a select few to a universe in which the event didn’t happen, to steer humanity in another direction.
In 2000, the original Phoenix team was assigned to a different project, and in 2004, the whole department was shut down and the project was shelved. I spent the next thirteen years on other projects for the government, many of which are inconsequential at this point because they never happened.
I awoke this morning as usual, showered, drank coffee, and got ready for work. I was almost out the front door when I noticed the difference. A picture on the wall, one from a family vacation five years ago, had a face I didn’t recognize.
I asked my wife who the child was. She laughed at first until she saw the expression on my face, the growing horror that was churning inside of me. She told me it was our daughter, Emma.
I felt dizzy and tasted copper in my mouth. Emma was the name we’d decided on for the girl that my wife would miscarry thirteen years ago. My wife asked me if I was all right, but I didn’t answer. It was as if my head was under water.
I went to my office and clicked on the computer. The screen greeted me with another unfamiliar photograph on my desktop, this one of a Christmas that seemed to be somewhat recent. I opened up the web browser and clicked through events from the past thirteen years. I found a group called ISIS that I’d never heard of, public shootings and massacres, beheadings, war, chaos. None of these things had happened in my lifetime until this morning.
I knew in an instant what had happened. I phoned my department head, and he answered on the second ring. “It worked.” I said. “Phoenix worked.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked.
“The Phoenix project we ended in 2004.”
“Ended? Son, we started that project in ’04.”
My mouth went dry.
“What the hell is going on? You better get down here for a debriefing ASAP.”
“I’m on my way,” I said, then hung up the phone.
Phoenix was only supposed to be used in the event of apocalyptic proportions, for the betterment of the species. It was only to be used after every last option had been explored and the human race could no longer survive. We were to find a better timeline in which to live, and share with mankind the knowledge we’d gained from seeing the cataclysm that befell our dimension.
As I left the house and drove toward the base, I couldn’t stop wondering what had happened to my world, and why, with the violence and blood that seemed to cover the country, had we chosen this place. How bad were things elsewhere?
Edit: I've been convinced! Working on writing more now. I've made a subreddit r/DoverHawk that I'll post the continuation on as well as some of my other projects if anyone would like to follow :)
Edit: Part 3
https://www.reddit.com/r/DoverHawk/comments/648ml5/project_phoenix_part_3/ | What was this ache inside my head? It pulsed, as if some invisible being was pinching my skull. Pained, I feel from my bed to the hardwood floor. I grunted in agony.
"Michael?" a heard a worried voice say. As the figure rushed over, I recognized it's face. This was Marie, my girlfriend from several years ago.
"What is this?" I asked, bewildered. "What's happening?"
"What do you mean?" Marie asked. "Are you okay? Honey, why don't you call in sick and stay home today? You're always so stressed out," she consoled me. Emotions flooded me. Her warm hand on my temple was euphorically nostalgic. But how? What had happened? Why wasn't I in my penthouse, with it's marble counters and walk-in closets? Instead, I was surrounded by wallpaper, with crudely drawn works of art made with crayons tacked on.
In the doorway stood a young girl. Her innocent face showed immense concern. What was this feeling that I had suddenly gotten? I no longer felt alone, I felt loved. Fulfilled. No longer plagued by that familiar emptiness. But this was wrong. How was this happening? That was when I realized what was going on. I began getting dressed. Marie looked at me in confusion.
"Mike, you hate those pants. You never wear them. What's going on? Where are you going?"
"To fix this," I replied.
"Fix what?" she asked, now irritated, as I ran out.
I walked out into the driveway, where there was a SUV parked. What the hell? Where was my Cadillac? I held some keys in my hand. I strangely knew which key I should use. I started the car and sped out onto the road.
I drove nervously, on the edge of a breakdown. Were my suspicions possible? Had I really crossed dimensions? I came to the old, torn down facility. Except it wasn't. It was gleaming in the sun, and seemed brand new. Its massive parking lot was filled with hundreds of cars. And there stood my old friend, Edwin. I walked out to him.
"You know what's happening?" he asked.
"I think so. But... how?" I spoke.
"This is the universe where the project works. There one where you didn't have to move to New York, so you and Marie stayed together. And that little girl? Her name's-"
"Lise." I finished his sentence.
"See? You're already getting adjusted."
"Why, though?"
"I wanted to give you a chance at this life. To see if it's for you. Over the next few days, your memory will fill in with this life and you will forget the other. Unless, of course, you want to go back. Which you can, right now. Your path back is right inside this building," Edwin gestured to the facility.
I thought for a moment. "I don't want to leave."
Edwin grinned, patted my shoulder, and walked off. | 2017-04-06T06:24:12 | 2017-04-06T06:13:45 | 103 | 31 |
[WP] Superman is mentally handicapped. That's why he thinks nobody can pick up the Clark Kent=Superman thing, and everyone plays along in an effort to keep him from throwing a tantrum. The comics are his idea of what is going on. What does a day in Metropolis actually look like? | Bruce Wayne stood stoically, looking down upon Gotham through the spotless glass of the top-floor conference room. It was a stunning view, with the orange light of the setting sun trickling through the skyscrapers that sprawled out towards the horizon. Diana closed the notebook in front of her, its well-worn spine crackling softly as she did.
Everyone in the room was silent. The looks on their faces a mix of disbelief and uncertainty. Hal was absentmindedly tapping his finger on the desk, a rapid rhythm that annoyed Diana far more than it should have. She caught his eye and looked down at his hand. His eyes moved with hers to the curled digit and he took notice of the movement. He stopped immediately and offered her an apologetic look. She nodded and turned again to look at Bruce's back.
"How long has this been going on, Diana?" Bruce asked.
"I'm not sure, Mr. Wayne. A few months at least, since he fought those other aliens from his home planet. The stories he's come up with are amazingly detailed, I'll give him that. However, they're, well-"
"Crazy," quipped Barry. "I mean, I've got super speed and Hal has a magic ring and you've got an invisible jet? It's silly."
"So what is it exactly I even do?" asked John.
Diana turned to face him and gave him a tight smile,"Well, you...you are a Martian and...well it's kind of all over the place. Your powers aren't really consistent from story to story."
"I'm...a Martian."
"Yes, sir."
He nodded his bald head slowly, chewing on the inside of his cheek, "I see."
"At least you don't live in the ocean and talk to fish," added Arthur. "I mean, is there a worse one than that?"
Diana smiled, "Well you do have that swimmer's physique, Arthur."
He returned the smile and was about to speak up again when Bruce interjected.
"I'm the only one without super powers?"
Diana shifted in her chair. Bruce would go entire board meetings without speaking sometimes. Bring the President of Wayne Industries had its perks.
"Yes, Mr. Wayne, but you do have an elaborate cave full of very interesting devices-"
"But I'm a giant, flying rodent."
Diana stifled a laugh, "Well, sir. You're Batman."
"I'm Batman," he repeated in flat, monotone voice.
Hal and Barry exchanged smirks. The room fell into silence once again.
"It seems to me," Bruce finally said, "That this Batman is a protector of Gotham. I doubt he would stand for the kind of destruction that Superman brought to Metropolis when those aliens attacked."
Diana wasn't sure what to say so she flipped open the notebook again and slowly turned the pages to see if anything in them agreed with Bruce's point.
"I'd say this Batman would use his resources to stand up to Superman and tell him that his super powers must be controlled to keep the citizens of this city safe."
He turned to face them as the final light of the day's sun fell past the horizon and threw dark shadows across the cavernous room.
"I think we take inspiration from this notebook and see if we can bring this alien madman around to reality. Perhaps its time for Superman and Batman to face off. For real."
The rest of the room exchanged short glances. Hal spoke up.
"Mr. Wayne, you can't be serious. That guy would rip you apart if you tried some Superman versus Batman mega-fight."
"Batman versus Superman sounds better," Barry said with a wide grin. Bruce gave Barry a look that wiped his face clean in an instant.
Looking back to Diana, Bruce seemed to grow another inch as he took in a deep breath and puffed out his chest, "Get me anything and everything you can on that alien technology. Hal, call Lexcorp. We'll work together on this. If this alien has super powers and he's mentally unstable, we have to act now."
Diana scribbled notes onto her tablet. As the COO, she felt it was her duty to ask the question which hung on everyone else's lips.
"Sir, are you planning to do something yourself?"
"I have to Diana," Bruce said as he turned back to the window and watched the stars in the sky steadily brighten.
"I'm Batman." | It's 6AM at the Metropolis. The city is starting to wake up as the sun rises over the streets and exposes the well preserved bricks on it's historic buildings. A shop owner is hosing down the side-walk as passersby wave him good morning. Above the shop, a window leads into the bedroom of Clark Kent, a well liked 23 year old with a speech impediment and the intelligence of an 8 year old. Clark lives in his own version of the Metropolis, where the crooks are plenty and the candy is bountiful.
"HI GUYS!" Clark exclaims at his toy soldiers. "We're gonna stop crime today! Get ready!" Clark tumbles out of his bunk bed and staggers into his closet where his favorite outfit is attached to the wall with about 12 pieces of gum. "I'm superman!!!" . Clark puts on a pair of blue shorts on top of the leggings he was already wearing. The red swastika t-shirt, which Clark clearly mistook for an "S" due to his double-vision is his identifying symbol. "Tu-du-du-ruuuuuu". As a last touch, Clark attaches a string to the back of his shirt, which is supposedly a cape in his mind.
As Clark heads out the door, he remembers "Wait!! Rupert where are my glasses??" Rupert is one of the inanimate toy soldiers and curiously appears more annoyed than the others as Clark finishes his sentence "Oh there they are....on my elbow!! Silly Superman!" As Clark restarts towards the door, he thinks to himself "Wait...why take the stairs? I can fly!!!" Clark leaps out the window just as the shop owner finishes hosing down the sidewalk. A large thud is heard as the shop owner runs to see if Clark is ok "Oh my god Clark not again!"
Clark, visibly injured, pulls himself to his feet as his red string blows in the wind. "I am not Clark, I am Superman" The concerned shop owner acknowledges the sentence as fact and proceeds with his day.
"Uh oh, I hear a distress signal" Clark bolts down towards the local synagogue. As he enters, he interrupts a bris ceremony just as the Rabbi is about to cut the foreskin of a newborn baby. The crowd stops in amazement as they are caught off guard by Clark's attire.
The Rabbi furiously exclaims "Hutspah! How dare you enter a Synagogue wearing that shirt?!" Clark is confused as this is the first time someone speaks to him this aggressively "Uhh...i'm Superman, I have to save that baby. Don't touch his pipi". The Rabbi is an out of towner who has not heard of Clark's antics " Young man, remove yourself from this sacred place right this minute!" Clark begins to think that he is scaring the Rabbi with his costume and removes his glasses "Hey Sir it's just me Clark, I'm not Superman" The Rabbi's patience wears thin as he throws a Tora right at Clark's head knocking him out.
"Where am I...." Clark wakes up on a distant planet. Ice surrounds him. He is wearing nothing but his red string, still waving in the wind.
| 2016-03-04T11:05:17 | 2016-03-04T09:23:45 | 29 | 11 |
[WP] In order to get a shot at going to Valhalla, you must die with a weapon in your hands. You just died and are now sitting in front of Odin's advisory board as they discuss whether a spatula actually counts. | “I am Frederik Audrey, and I am in front of you today because I am a true warrior. I died doing battle as any true warrior should.”
This speech would have sounded better if I wasn’t sitting in a plastic chair. In front of me sat 5 of the most hardened warriors to ever cross into Valhalla. In life I was a die hard atheist. Turns out, I fucked up and gods are real.. No other god would have me because I wasn’t one of the faithful. So here I am, if I can prove I am a warrior to these fine gentleman then I get to go to a happy place. If not then the various underworlds are going to draw straws on my soul.
“What foe where you fighting,” the one in the middle grunted out.
“Hunger.” Did I mention that I died fixing breakfast.
They laughed. “How is hunger a valid foe to be fighting.” I wasn’t sure who asked.
I take a breath and stand, “ in your lives did any of you ever truly defeat hunger or did you only ever press back its attacks.” They blinked. “My goal wasn’t a temporary victory. I wanted domination. I wanted to make hunger cry all the way back to its mommy.”
They laughed.
“So what weapon did the noble warrior use,” the one on the left asked.
“I was using a tempered steel spatula with a carbon fiber grip. It had an ergonomic grip allowing me to hold on to it no matter how slippery it got in battle.”
They looked at each other and nodded their appriciation.
“So how did you die. “
“He must have been planning his attack for months. One second I’m standing there caring out my battle plan when I’m engulfed in flames.”
They nod at a warrior off to the side. He comes over, grabs my arm and literally drags me out of the room.
In a flash I’m standing on a field of green grass across from me are thousands of warriors in various armors and carrying weapons from sticks to modern military rifles. I look down. I’m in a checkered bathrobe holding a spatula. Fuck me.
| Big Sally sat across the massive oak table.
Her arms crossed. Hair net still tight. Cigarette in one hand. Spatula in the other. So entrenched into her image these things, that even death could not take them. She sat like an angry Valkyrie.
Odin shrunk down while reading the tablet of Big Sally's deeds.
High Queen of the Lunch rush.
Undefeated in over 1000 dinners.
Able to create food almost at will from government supplies.
Known for their unending warmth to some, and undeniable cruelty to others.
Odin looked towards the spatula. Its edge razor sharp. Its steel bright. Handle slightly deformed from Big Sally's grip.
Odin slowly turns to an advisor, unsure of Big Sally's placement in the afterlife. As he turned he heard the voice of Big Sally.
"Will you hurry up. I get to get the potatoes peeled" a voice akin to a mountain falling into a gravel pit, but oddly warm and motherly.
In that moment, Odin knew he could not deny this warrior, but mostly out of fear. | 2018-03-26T12:54:18 | 2018-03-26T11:56:40 | 32 | 19 |
[WP] You are the prophesied hero, who was whisked away from another world and is destined to vanquish evil. This is the fifth time it happened and you're getting real tired of it. | "This is the Dire Wood," said Aluvitar, snatching a glance at me from below his bushy eyebrows. "The trees thrive by moonlight, and the forest has been steeped in gloom, under the same spell that birthed it, through all the ages of our world, long before Men walked here."
"Yeah, noticed I can barely see anything."
"THEN LET THERE BE LIGHT!" thundered Aluvitar, and laid a hand upon the nearest gnarled trunk. A magick symbol glowed bright on the back of his hand, leafy green, ocean blue, blood red, and as it did the black leaves of the tree glowed with an ethereal milky light. As though the high branches whispered to one another of ancient secrets and alliances, the light passed from the leaves of one tree to another, and another, until a ring of illumination shone down upon the hollow which Aluvitar had yanked me away to.
I stifled a yawn. I'd been in bed at the time the portal opened in the wall, ironically right below my Rick and Morty poster this time.
"It is not time to be weary!" hissed Aluvitar, now seeming to be keeping the voice down, though he'd been shouting the leaves into illumination a minute before. He hobbled toward me, his ragged robe of Nedronian wurm silk flapping about his legs. "I've called you here, becau--"
"It wasn't quite calling. You grabbed my leg through the portal and basically tugged me through. I didn't have a lot of choice. Now Dorvan the Wise last year, he called me. Legit. It was respectful."
"This world doesn't have time for the manners of the Earth realm," rasped the hoary wizard. "Our very existence is threatened by a great evil from the bowels of Druk, festering at the far reaches of the Nez Plateau, and *you*...you are the hero prophesied for ten thousand moons to vanquish its slithe--"
"--ering corruption from the land. Or realm. Whatever you were about to say."
Aluvitar's pale, cataract-ridden eyes widened in the ghostly light of the leaves. "You have the gift of mind-glassing," he said in wonder.
"No, I'm not psychic." I leaned against a tree, rubbing my temples to dispel a growing headache. "It's just that the Elder Porfanon said pretty much the same thing. Hey, is this Eredia? Seems like it."
Aluvitar shook his head, his eyebrows meeting in confusion like curious caterpillars. "No, Prophesied Hero, this is the Kingdom of Sepheron."
"Wait, Kingdom of Sepheron, as in the neighboring kingdom to Prazak-Shataan?"
"Y-yes."
"Oh man. That place is nuts. Can't remember if it was my second quest to vanquish evil or the third, but one of the two... Anyway, yeah, I vanquished the evil there as well. Sounds like some of the guerrilla groups hiding out in the Plephadian Wastes may have snuck into--what did you call it? The Naz Plateau?"
"Nez."
"So is the Nez Plateau is close to the border of Prazak-Shataan, by any chance?"
"Right...right across the border actually."
Aluvitar scrached his butt through his robe, pretending to fiddle with something in one of its many pockets. Probably thought I didn't notice, though the little scratch-your-butt-through-the-robe-pocket trick is pretty common among wizards. I'd know--I met five of them on four previous Quests of the Prophesied Hero that I'd been roped into.
"Look man, I want to get this over with. Which was the Nez Plateau and Drug or whatever?"
"Druk."
"Druk. And you have a sword?"
"Er, behind that tree."
I looked and saw the hilt peeking out from behind the neighboring trunk.
"Cheers," I said, lifting it and testing its weight. The moon was bright tonight and my eyes had adjusted to the dark. I'd find my way through the wood. | The army of the terrible Demon King charged towards me. And I couldn't care less. Been there, done that. Four armies vanquished, an exemplary record, and my reward? Another army to kill. The Time Lords had no regard for the feeling of boredom. Time never got bored of ticking. But I did. And today will be my salvation, today the demon army shall run me over, and it will be the end of it.
Or so I thought. But I was strong, much too strong. The flaming arrows slid right off my body. The blades weren't sharp enough to even graze my skin. Bored by their incompetence, I ran roughshod on them. Every single one of them killed. Now only the Demon King remained.
And boy, he was strong. The strongest of the five, I'd say. Good gear too: dragonhide armour, black metal sword, platinum shield, and lightning boots. A good man to lose my life to.
He charged at me, and I put my shield up -- courtesy, you know, one can't just give up. His sword clanged against my shield. The force of his blow pushed me onto my heels. I drew my shield back and slashed at the Demon King, but his dragonhide armour smothered my blow, and he dropped his shield and punched me hard in the gut.
Now, I know I wanted to die, to end it all, but I didn't come to get beaten up. I wanted a nice clean death, no goring involved. Clearly, the Demon King was operating on a different wavelength. So, I did what needed to be done.
Slouched against his fist, my hands reached down to his lightning boots, and I mixed his laces up. The Demon King threw me a good three feet away, but I was smiling. He didn't know why, but you know demons, they don't like a smartass.
Muscles bulging, the Demon King picked his platinum shield up and leapt towards me. But you know, his laces were mixed up, and with leather boots that wouldn't have mattered, but his were lightning boots. And they crackled when he leapt at me, and the crackling grew ever louder, and the lightning grew ever stronger until it burnt the Demon King to crisp.
Damn, I didn't expect the boots to blow up like that. The Demon King was dead now. Evil, gone. Maybe, it's a good thing. This could be it -- promotion!
But you know the Time Lords, they're party poopers.
"Well done!" the voice in the sky said.
"It's my honour." I had to say that -- it was written in the manual.
"Your tireless efforts have not escaped our notice. And we have a gift for you."
Nothing to get excited about, they had to say it too, protocol.
"Not many heroes have the honour to be called so in five worlds. And now you shall be given the opportunity to go for a record six!"
"It's my honour," I said.
And the voice in the sky stopped. And now I will be beamed up, again. Then I'll be beamed down, again. Time Lords, do us a favour and get a life. | 2020-12-31T07:08:11 | 2020-12-31T06:53:19 | 82 | 61 |
[WP] Your power is that anyone will believe what you say, no matter what it is. You casually rob the store, assuring everyone that nothing is out of the ordinary, and later laugh as you offer an outlandish explanation to the flabbergasted police. | I have done things I'm not proud of. I've lived like a wolf among sheep, a god among mortals, a monster among innocents. People have lost everything because of me. I’ve seen the tears in the eyes of families whose houses I wanted, the fear in the stance of men and women I’ve robbed for everything they had ever worked to earn, a lifetime of work stolen away in an instant.
But it wasn’t until people started dying, deprived of everything by my actions, that it hit me – I was the one who wasn’t needed, the parasite on the back of humanity.
I stared into the mirror and drew up all the reserves I could muster. I looked down at the three lines I had scribbled out in preparation.
“You are a kind person, concerned only with helping others.”
I felt a sickening shame as the guilt of everything I had done struck with a vengeance. Tears brimming in my eyes, bile rising, I choked out the next line.
“You are an amnesiac, remembering none of the terrible actions you have taken in your past.”
Everything stopped. I blinked and looked into the mirror. Why was I crying? Who was I? Where? How?
I was holding a paper in my hand. The first two lines were crossed out, and beside the third was a note – ‘look into the mirror and read this’.
I looked into the mirror. “You are a perfectly ordinary human, with no special powers or abilities, and that is good enough.” | [Poem]
A trio of haiku for Writing Prompts
I have seen this film
He was the first guy to lie,
That Ricky Gervaise
>Anything he said,
>The people would believe him.
>He got bored real fast.
Fifty six percent,
Its rotten tomato score.
More than it deserved. | 2020-03-06T11:47:32 | 2020-03-06T09:43:14 | 269 | 41 |
[WP] Life in most of the universe requires a special energy to exist, something that most species could intuitively sense. An alien ship crashes onto Earth and are horrified by the things on the planet that act like living things, but show no signs of life at all. | My maintenance light comes on when I’m a few light years from home. I pull up the map. Thankfully, a habitable planet is close by. I think the ship needs some attention, and I’d rather do it now than risk an emergency landing somewhere else.
I’m closest to a fairly large planet named Earth. I look up the notes in the database, but I don’t find anything. If someone has been here, it hasn’t been for a while. The terrain looks habitable though, and all of the scans show that the air is contaminated, but breathable.
My landing is a little bumpy. The ground here is fairly flat and black, with some yellow and white markings that appear to follow some sort of pattern. I climb out of the ship, and breathe in the air, which does taste faintly of a carbon-based exhaust. I appear to have landed in the midst of a civilization, and I can see evidence of some rudimentary land-based vehicles, as well as some large buildings. They appear to be too big to be dwellings, unless the life forms here are enormous. I scan the sky, but I don’t see anything.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see movement. Something exits one of the vehicles and moves towards me slowly. Thankfully, it appears to be around the same size as me. I reach out, greeting them with the proper etiquette, as I have been taught to do.
Nothing.
These beings must have a pretty limited range, which isn’t unheard of. Last year, I was on a planet of people who couldn’t communicate until I was standing directly in front of them, which was really weird.
The Earthling is still moving towards me, and I have an opportunity to study it further. Actually, it doesn’t look that different than the other life forms I’m used to. Bipedal with two additional appendages that appear to help with balance, and are also waving in the air. I’m not sure what that’s about.
Once the being is closer, I reach out again. This time, I can hear a faint something, but it just sounds like static. I’m definitely within range now. The Earthling is right next to me. I could practically reach out and touch it. Is it possible that these beings don’t actually have sentient thought? They seem to be pretty developed, but the lack of communication is seriously unnerving.
The Earthling is still waving its arms, and now that it’s close enough to see me, some terrible, grating noises are coming from its mouth. I still can’t hear anything when I reach out. There’s nothing at all coming towards me, and when I try to communicate with them, they don’t seem to understand or respond.
Revulsion washes over me. What are these things? They seem alive, but there doesn’t appear to be anything at all going on inside them.
Is this weird noise how they communicate? External communication is so limited, and leaves so much room for lying and deception. I can’t imagine how a civilization could have come about without people being able to trust each other implicitly. I wonder if maybe these are some sort of lesser beings that also inhabit the planet?
The noises coming from the Earthling are becoming louder and more grating. It’s coming closer to me still, and other Earthlings are beginning to gather. Many of them are pointing small boxes at me, holding them up as they continue to make the strange noises. I reach out instinctively, panicking. Surely, I should be able to hear something.
All I can hear is static. It surrounds me. There are so many of them! And they’re getting closer.
As quickly as I can, I climb back into the ship, shaking. No maintenance stop is worth this kind of panic. Ignoring the maintenance light, I power up the ship and take off before any of the Earthlings can follow me.
I don’t stop scanning behind me until I’m well clear of Earth’s atmosphere, and I don’t really calm down fully until I’m in the next galaxy. I may have panicked unnecessarily. Those things didn’t have anything going on inside them. There’s no way they would have the mental capacity to follow me. I chuckle to myself, thinking about how weird the Earthlings were. Boy, are they going to love hearing about this at home. | "...yet life in most of the universe requires a special energy to exist Ti'kar. All species we encountered thus far have been able to intuitively sense it."
"I am fully aware of our innate extrasensory nature Ti'kar, you are aware of the rea--"
"Ti'kar, apologies for interrupting. There's an object from Earth approaching our ship at some velocity."
"Speak, akir."
"It appears to be weaponized. A single projectile with a payload of miscellaneous elements. Primary element appears to be--"
"Uranium. Activate defensive protocols."
"Acknowledged, Fenestrator."
The shady silhouettes dancing in the night sky slowly faded akin to a distant mirage. The Krikarian vessel de-cloaked into full view.
"Energy shields are at maximum. Brace for impact."
The nuclear explosion could easily level an entire city. It was promptly nullified at the moment of impact. The explosion was entirely absorbed by the vessel's invisible energy shield.
"How did they detect us? Their technology is far too primitive to even register as a threat, let alone possessing the capability to detect any trace of our energy signatures or frequencies."
"You already know the answer to that, Ti'kar."
"Fenestrator. We will need to land the ship for repairs. An unknown trace element absorbed by our shields could not be spooled and vented by our core elemental extractor. Our sensors are currently disabled, along with our energy shields. We are however, re-cloaked."
"Proceed, akir."
As the Krikarian vessel initiated landing protocols, another projectile struck the side of the ship. The shock wave, debris, clouds and dust flowered into a mushroom of veritable destruction high above the earth's atmosphere. It had minimal impact on the hull of the vessel, but the Krikarian's were in rapid decent.
"Over there, akir."
"Acknowledged, Fenestrator."
The akir descended the Krikarian vessel through the earth's atmosphere and rapidly landed in a dense forest around ten-thousand fleks away from the origin of the explosion.
"Come Ha'kir, I will show you they can not be living creatures, they have demonstrated as much with their attack."
The duo emerged from the side of the Krikarian vessel. They drifted through the air like the laws of gravity simply did not apply. A small town was honing into their view. Ti'kar had no time to react when a strange vehicle unceremoniously struck Ha'kir at high speed. The vehicle screamed to a screeching halt. A small frame stepped out walking over to Ha'kir's form. Ti'kar could only watch as the figure picked up Ha'kir in the palm of their hand, get in the vehicle and drive away. Ti'kar followed closely.
\-------
"I believe you now know that they are worthy of inclusion, Ti'kar."
"I do. The female nursed you back to health, despite my reservations. I am neither able to classify their behavior, nor the reason why."
"I believe, Ti'kar, she referred to it as *love*. We have much to learn."
&#x200B;
\-------
Edit: Spelling and such! | 2019-05-31T10:14:29 | 2019-05-31T09:08:47 | 87 | 64 |
[WP] Everybody has the ability to bring another person back to life, at the cost of their own life. You are a suicidal celebrity who can't stay dead because of fans constantly sacrificing their lives to resurrect you. | They debate who will get to die for me next. Don't want to kill two people when you could only lose one.
That's how I feel. Like I'm a killer. It doesn't really help the suicidal ideation. I've had it all my life, this tugging that I'm not good enough.
The first time I decided to end my life I didn't think anyone would care. Like, yeah, I'm a pop star. But barely. I'm a one hit wonder, some mix between a *Call me Maybe* and Miley Cyrus after the going insane. Sure, I had some fanboys.
But I never thought I'd be worth a life.
I didn't think I was worth my own life.
And yet there I was, lying in a pool of my own sick after a drug overdose that should have - I guess technically did - killed me.
"Oh, she's awake!"
"Thank God!"
"Welcome back, Emerald!"
It takes a while to get back to normal after death. There's that relief that comes with suicide. That final realization that it won't hurt anymore. For me there was no regret that first time. Coming back from that was like finding out they'd gotten the terminal brain tumor but the radiation caused leukemia.
It sucked.
And someone else was dead. For me. Someone who had this long, wonderful life because they were only twelve and twelve-year-olds don't have the mental capacity to realize what they're doing.
It was a few years before I died again. It was everything. The guilt, the depression, the pressure. Storms came and went and I found myself unable to do anything. Then suicide came again, and with that idea I just felt free.
So I left a note.
*Please don't bring me back.*
Of course, celebrities don't belong to themselves. It didn't matter what *I* wanted.
Then I had two lives given up for mine.
I should be in jail. Suicidal, famous, responsible for two deaths.
But they don't call me a murderer. They just cheer that I'm here, and call those two who gave their lives for me heroes.
If only they knew. If only they believed me. If I knew no one else would give their life for me, I'd be gone in an instant.
But that's not the case. I perform, I hate myself, I wish constantly for the release of death.
But my life is a show. And for now the show must go on.
----
Thanks for reading. Check out and subscribe to r/Celsius232 for more stories | I open my eyes again and see John, my overtaker. Damnit, not again. Instead of preparing me to be dead forever, John prepares me to wake up again. And again. And again. Mostly he just makes sure I'm clean, dressed, and then listens to my tirade of swearing.
I've tried everything: jumped from buildings, electrocution, stabbing, got shot, blew myself up, hell I even stole a a groundhog once and drove off a cliff. It all started with my accidental admission into the Darwin club. Like a dumbass I stepped into an open elevator with no elevator there and fell to my death. There's even video of me looking up and down first and still stepping into the shaft. Somehow, this made me famous.
People wanted to see how I die next. Would I do something stupid again? John says he's overtaken me about two dozen times now. I've only done something stupid once more with a wrecking ball, which got me yet another page on the Darwin website.
I just need to die a really boring, unexciting death. Should I recite pi until I die of dehydration? Or go for a swim with the fishes? It has been 5 years that I've lived this time and Google shows that the trend that is my name is flatlining. Perfect. Let's hope it stays that way. Flatlined.
As my knife slices through the rope holding up the piano I notice a traffic camera across the street. Damnit.
***
I open my eyes again and see John, my overtaker. | 2016-07-06T21:27:22 | 2016-07-06T20:07:02 | 1,116 | 51 |
[WP] You, a satanic cultist, have been preparing this ritual for a few months. You plan to summon a demon. As the candles flicker, you see a form rising from the pentagram. Suddenly, one of your best friends is standing there, eating cereal, in their pajamas. | “What’s going on? Where am I? Jason?”
Alyssa.
Enveloped in thick grey smoke.
Eating cereal.
In pajamas.
And pink fuzzy pink slippers.
Bitch.
She is standing in the half-light of my dad’s house living room, surrounded by blood candles, skull runes, smoking herbs, and other ritual artifacts I and my buddies painstakingly collected over the last five months.
Those candles were expensive.
Tim, who sits cross-legged on the floor behind the demon girl we summon, frowns. He lowers the empty beer bottle and shifts back a little, just enough so he’s not touching the black duct tape we used to make the Sigil of Baphomet on the fake wood floor.
Once done moving, Tim grabs the Blue Moon bottle by its top, brings it to his face and taps it as if checking that the longneck is really empty.
He looks at me. “Dude…”
“Shut up, Tim. Shut the fuck up.”
Tommy wobbles next to Tim. As per instructions in *the Deamon Summonicarium* supplement to *Codex Gigas*, Tommy is drunk as a skunk. He burst into laughter, rolls over the floor and starts banging his fist onto the vinyl tiles.
I swallow. “Hi, Alyssa.”
She makes a single blow into the thick smoke and makes it go away. Then, still looking a bit confused, she scans the room and looks down at her feet.
“Oh, no.” She exhales, smirks and steps out of the pentagram. “Jason, what did you do?! My dad’s gonna be pissed when he finds out about this!”
Her dad is Sir Amon Vantablack, Second Marquis of Jinnestan. Yeah, royalty and yes, last name same as that light-absorbing material. Sir Amon is the Chairman of Folkton Bank’s Board of Trustees. Loaded, influential and ruthless would be understatements when describing him.
And Alyssa is his father’s daughter.
She’s also my best friend. At least that’s what she tells everyone. We both go to Folkton High and she sits in front of me in Mr. Morton’s History class. She loves trees and nature, crazy Miley the Treehugger is her friend and together with Matilda, Alyssa runs the Folkton High Gossip Mill.
And recently, she started a nasty gossip about my father.
Bitch, it’s payback time.
She points to Tommy who’s still rolling on the floor and banging his fist against the tiles. “Is he okay?”
“I’m… I’m sorry Alyssa. Uhmm… It was a part of the ritual... Tim”--- I motion him to deal with Tommy ---” can you help him get up? Take him upstairs, or something... Tommy! Stop banging your fist on the floor!”
“J-man!” Tommy burps. “She’s wearing fuzzy pink slippers!”
“Shut up, Tommy! Alyssa, he’s drunk, just ignore him.”
“Dude, she’s a demon,” Tim whispers.
Alyssa growls and snaps her fingers.
Tim and Tommy are frozen in time, unable to hear or see anything.
“Thanks,” I say. | ".....val karnis femro tu saar bey." staz spoke in a grim voice.
the summoning was complete. a form started to rise and a new emotion was rising along with it inside him from underneath his confidence, fear. the summoning succeeded but what if his binding did not.
the form stopped rising and suddenly the smoke dispersed. and the next second staz froze, not in fear but in confusion. standing in the centre of the pentagram, dressed in light pink pajamas with rabbit print, carrying a bowl in her left hand and spoon in her right halfway to her mouth, was idis, his best friend since childhood.
idis looked like she was frozen as well as only her eyes moved. they looked around and finally fell on staz.
"fuck." she said.
moments passed by. staz was still trying to process what he was seeing.
"erm...could you unbind us?" idis asked.
"wha-wha-what?" went staz still struggling.
"just imagine releasing us."
"huh?" but the picture of him taking his hands off her formed in his mind.
"better."
her hands were lowered and the bowl and spoon just disappeared. now staz' guard was up.
"who are you?" he asked in a low but a steady voice.
"isn't it obvious?"
"you are a demon." next second rage bubbled inside him for its audacity to take his friend's form. but he contained it and asked
"why did you take my friend's appearance?"
now staz noticed something in this demon's face, fear. almost like it sensed his rage and was afraid of it.
"actually, you are the demon and we are your familiars." she replied uneasily.
"what?!"
"not demon, as in that christian crap. but daimon, as in the greek word for supernatural being with power."
"huh?"
"and no, we are not taking the form of your best friend. we ARE your best friend."
"no."
"yes. you enslaved us millenia ago."
"WHAT?!" | 2020-01-05T20:52:52 | 2020-01-05T20:45:38 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] Out of all possible familiars, you are "Graced" with a human. While legend says that they are beings of great power, yours just makes sarcastic comments and pranks people. | After glancing at the time, Navi raced down from her roost, and flew into her family's great room, where her graduation party would be happening. But when she saw the mess, she stopped short.
Her heart shrank. Bowls of punch had been thrown to the ground and shattered. The food had all been covered with black pitch. The streamers torn down, the banners ruined with stains. Even the huge "Congratulations" banner had been mostly torn down, so that only a sad "Con" hung in it's place.
And an human laugh, in their annoying high-pitched way, was the only sound. Anger consumed her. *Travis!*
Every dragon looks forward to their thirteenth birthday, the day when they'll first summon their familiar. All familiars are valuable, but none are so prized as the intelligent ones. Fairies were best, but even humans were held in high regard. Intelligent familiars could learn magic above and beyond their dragon partners.
On the day she had received a human she had been overjoyed. But after three years of practical jokes and insipid pranks, three years of disappointment, she thought that perhaps a nice little rabbit would have been better.
Still, the pranks in the past had a least been a little funny. This was just *malicious*. Her anger faded, and just turned into a tired sadness.
After a moment, she spoke, "At first, when I saw you, I thought that we would be like Isil and Markus. I thought that we would have a bond of love and friendship that would defy the ages. I thought that we would be great! Heroes that could do anything."
Now she knew. She would have to be great without him.
"You know?" Travis said, "That's what I thought, too. What? I've read those stories, too. There's not much else to do when your master is such a shut-in. I don't remember my life before I was summoned, obviously, but I don't think I was anything special. That's why I was so excited when I heard about them. But then I looked around. A kingdom at peace. A fair and tolerant government. Does this world even need heroes?"
Navi held her tongue. This was the first time she had heard *any* of this!
Travis continued, "But then I heard about the Academy of Heroes! A special college, where you can be taught by the greatest dragons and familiars in the kingdom! And as a human-dragon pair, we were practically guaranteed a spot! I heard about that and I *knew*. I *knew*. I still had a glorious destiny in front of me."
Travis paused to calm himself.
"So maybe that's why it hurt so much when you slept through three years of classes, so that you could stay up to 3 every morning reading trashy adventure novels."
A spike of shame shot through Navi. How many times had he tried no wake her in the morning, only to be thrown off her roost. Isil had never manhandled Markus like that; humans were notoriously sensitive about their slight frame and fragile bodies. Eventually, Trav had stopped roosting with her at all, despite the fact that his tiny human body had no defense against the freezing Dragonia nights.
"But why this?" Navi asked, gesturing at the wreckage with a claw.
"Why what? Why ruin all the decorations that me and your mother set up for you, while you messed around in your room?"
Travis shook his head.
"Because for the last three years, the only time you seemed to be alive at all is when I could get you to run around putting out fires that I started. I wanted you to be awake for this."
He unfurled a scroll, comically large in his human hands. Navi read it, and felt her eyes nearly bulge out of her sockets.
"You've been accepted to the Academy *WITHOUT ME?*"
"You didn't even graduate tertiary school. Maybe double check that next time before throwing a party for yourself. I'm sorry Navi, but I could watch you sleep your schooling away. I can't spend my life watching you wash dishes part time at your uncle's public house. I'll just have to be great without you."
He winked at her shocked expression. He said, "We can read each others minds. You'd know that if you cared enough about anyone else to try."
"I won't let you!" she said, "I can Recall you!"
Travis cupped her snout in his hands. "I can stop you. But I won't. If you ever really need me, I'll be there for you. But honestly Navi, instead of asking why I ruined your decorations, why not ask why you're a half hour late to your own party, and why no one else bothered to show up?"
With that, he backed up a few steps and clapped his hands. He disappeared, and in an impressive burst of magic, all the decorations and food repaired themselves. The big banner hung just as it had before.
"Congratulations" | Zorgleborp walked into his classroom that day, excited to find out what is familiar was going to be. Maybe it was going to be a Glimpleshob, or even a Targanomp! Oh, a Targanomp would have been so great as a familiar. Zorgleborp sat in his desk and started talking with his friend, Singazorm, about the familiars. Soon, his teacher walked in.
"So, Familiar Day today! Siglenors, I hope you're ready!" the teacher shouted to the class.
"We are!" responded the class.
"Good, good," the teacher stated. "Right, so I've got the hat here. It'll go around the room and you'll reach your tentacle in to get a slip of paper, which will tell you your familiar and conjure it for you." He passed the hat to Snorgledorf.
I waited in anticipation. "I got a Bibnazib!" his friend shouted, signalling his turn.
Zorgleborp's hand reached into the bag. He felt around for a bit, until he found a paper that felt right. He pulled it out and it said...
"Human!" Zorgleborp shouted in exclamation. Humans were supposed to be good. It conjured in front of him, looking around, and then did finger guns and said something like "Ayyyy!"
The hat was passed around until it got back to the teacher. "Alright, class is over. Bye."
Zorgleborp ran out of the classroom, human in tow. However, Zorgleborp soon learned that humans were not cut out for running. He found his human a few yards back from him soon, putting his hands on his knees and panting.
"What, you can't run a few yards?" Zorgleborp sighed.
"I'm not...cut out...for sprints...especially not...at that...speed," the human replied. Zorgleborp almost pitied it. "Besides, could you...run a mille...in under...7 minutes? No...I think not!"
Zorgleborp sighed. "Come on, human. We have magic to do."
"Magic, shmagic. Come on, let's prank some of your alien friends," the human replied. "It'll be fun."
"No," Zorgleborp said. "We're going to do magic with my friends."
The human sighed and got on Zorgleborp's slimy back. They ran all the way to Zorgleborp's friend's house.
Zorgleborp knocked on the door. Soon, they heard a slam, and the door opened. Zorgleborp's friend's head was covered in plastic wrap.
"Hehe," the human laughed.
"Did you do this, human?" Zorgleborp asked.
"Yeah. Funny, right? Ayyyyy!" the human said.
"How?"
The human grinned. "I'm not telling."
"Leave."
"Can't. I'm your familiar, remember? And you seemed so excited to get me when you first pulled that paper out of the hat..."
Zorgleborp's friend intervened. "Hey, maybe we could switch familiars! I've got this weird Sindlesnorp that you might like. And I have a good feeling about this human here."
Zorgleborp's face lit up with relief. "Yes, oh my Zorp, thank you! Here, here's the human!" They traded their familiars and Zorgleborp walked away with a new Sindlesnorp.
"So, I hear you're good at math," the human said to Zorgleborp's friend.
"No, I'm not."
"So you could say...you could subtract it from your life?" the human cracked up.
Zorgleborp's friend sighed. "This was a bad idea, wasn't it?"
"Yep!" | 2018-03-20T20:55:10 | 2018-03-20T18:12:30 | 27 | 20 |
[WP] Due to their genetic heritage as pursuit predators, humans have been known to be the best bounty hunters and private detectives in the galaxy. If you want to find someone, you hire a human. They just won't stop until they find who they are looking for. | *You have come to report?* Simae’n asked, its bulbous upper eye gleaming with avarice, three of its lower eyes skimming over Matt’s body in search of the prize while the other five scanned the room in every other direction.
Matt rubbed the bridge of his nose. Atarean telepathy always gave him an irritating
buzzing feeling in his sinuses. “Yeah, I found ‘em alright. They—”
The Atarean was scuttling away from him across the packed restaurant, snapping up freeze-dried insects from a tray carried by a frazzled looking Mursion female. She expertly swiped a credit reader past the Atarean’s bandolier to take payment before it moved out of reach, back towards Matt. The Mursion stared at her empty tray, looking puzzled as to why she was out on the restaurant floor, until the tray lit up with new instructions and she slimed back towards the kitchen.
*You have come to report?* Simae’n asked again, shaking a hairy tarantula leg from one claw. Its main claw and four of its eyes were busy with its smartphone, which was alerting messages every few seconds with bleeps and clicks.
Earth insects were a new fad; there were billboards everywhere with animated slogans: **Earth crickets: the new superfood!** **Need to put new shine in those feathers? Try slugs!**
“Yeah,” Matt repeated, speaking quickly. “I found them. They were just—” He bit back a curse as Simae’n spun in a circle, suddenly standing erect on his middle leg, a claw wobbling perilously close to Matt’s face as it balanced there for a moment, before dropping back to all fives with a clump and a wash of reptilian-like stink in the warm air. The smartphone clicked four or five times in succession and most of its eyes flicked down to it before the upper eye returned to Matt.
*I thought I saw Flak’g.* Simae’n explained unapologetically. *It is in mating heat. It produced four eggs last season, and--*
“You want the files?” Matt cut in sharply. “I got the files.”
*Ah, the files.* Simae’n crooned into his mind. *Yes, the files. Give them to me.*
“My fee first,” he insisted. Atareans were generally extremely honest businessmen, but the problem was chasing them down if they left before they paid. On a smooth surface, an Atarean could run thirty miles an hour without breaking a sweat, or whatever it is they do to thermoregulate. He saw Simae’n’s main eye start to swivel away from him and he quickly whipped out the brightly covered plastic drive from his pocket, waving it in front of the bulging eye. “My fee,” he reminded it.
Simae’n fumbled with its bandolier to produce a wad of credit cards, dropping them into Matt’s outstretched hand and snatching the file from him in the same movement.
*I will have another assignment for you tomorrow. Meet me in the usual--* Before it could finish the thought, the unmistakeable clicking of two Atareans meeting drew its attention and it shot off across the restaurant, disappearing into the crowd.
Matt grinned, pocketing most of the cards and heading to the bar with the remaining one. He had a meeting with a Vitzzi in an hour, but like Simae’n, it was a regular, just needing him to find an item it had left somewhere around its home most likely. Simae’n had a habit of leaving the house without anything it needed for the rest of the day, and was a reliable source of income to bring it its work files and access cards every afternoon, by which time it had usually remembered it was supposed to be working. It was amazing other species had achieved FTL travel with their short attention spans, but he supposed that’s why they didn’t have the patience for wars either, and that must have saved them a lot of wasted time. To them, humans were supernatural zen masters of patience, with laser focus on tasks and an astonishing, almost debilitating, capacity to do one thing at a time.
He wove his way through the chaotic room, aliens zooming in all directions, often changing direction in crazy zig-zags as their destination changed with every fleeting thought. As he made his way to the bar, he watched Simae’n set the plastic drive on a table and lunge out of the restaurant on its urgent way somewhere. Probably headed to work. Matt slipped through the crowd and quietly pocketed the file drive. He’d have a drink and wait. Simae’n would be back in about an hour and he could “report” again. But first, to try to get a server’s attention for long enough to actually *get* that drink.
(Edit: grammar) | I sat with my feet propped on my desk and rattled the ice cubes in my brandy and watched the line of smoke billow from the cigarette sitting on my ash tray. I waited for the next case to fall into my lap as they always did. That's all it took was a nice patient wait. My reputation was enough to sling me into high-paying, neck-risking jobs at least once a week.
There was a knock. It was odd. I was so used to dames simply bursting in, tears in their eyes, and spilling their story straight away. More, powerful knocks. Not on the door though. On the ceiling. I took my feet down and stared upward.
The white plaster was crumbling and small debris fell from the crack forming directly above me. I jumped to my feet, but too late, as in the next moment I was surrounded by blue light. My heart dropped to my stomach and I felt myself lurch upward against my will. All I could do was clutch my fedora tight and close my eyes.
------------
When I came to, I shrieked a manly shriek as my first sight was a hideous creature stirring around me, watching me with his giant, bulging eyeballs. This was Gorthak, an alien and my most recent client.
He spoke in gurgles and grumbles, to which a vaguely human voice immediately followed from the device now latched on my ear.
"Welcome to my ship, detective. I am boss/president/chief/big cheese/general/king Gorthak of Topo-Boralis. It is a planet in the next solar system over. When we arrive there, I have a job for you, for which you will be payed handsomely."
"Oh for the love of Chicago." I looked around, still processing everything through messy vision. "I need a smoke."
"Ah, here. Try this." Gorthak handed me an unnaturally long and thin cigarette. I frowned at it. "Go ahead." I shrugged and lit it. It tasted like gasoline and onions. I gagged and panted for air. "Well, it's the closest crop we have."
"Listen here, buddy. You can't just kidnap me and bend me to your will. I work for American dollars only."
"That we can do." Gorthak produced a briefcase and opened it with his stubby fingers. It was packed with crisp stacks of hundred dollar bills.
My eyes lit up. I smiled slyly. "You found yourself a detective, Mister, uh, President Gorthak."
"Perfect. I've had suspicions for months/seasons now that my bride, of unmatched beauty-"
I snickered. Couldn't help it. I don't think he understood.
"-of unmatched beauty, has been... unfaithful."
"Can't imagine why." No reaction. I was testing the barriers at this point. No concept of sarcasm. I almost brought the gasoline-stogie to my mouth again before I rembered and stopped myself. "You want me to tail your alien wife?"
"Yes." A huge screen lit up in front of me I hadn't even noticed was there before. "This is Drexel. My bride/wife/queen." I'd been so wrong to snicker. This lucky bastard had landed the most desirablel creature in the universe. How I felt this about a non-human... dame I'd never be sure. All I knew was she radiated beauty and I'd never felt my foot caught this far in my mouth.
I tore my gaze from Drexel and instead inspected the ridiculous cigarette between my fingers. I made a point to always play off a casual demeanor, so I at least *seemed* a step ahead. "You can count on me Gorthy ol' pal." I winked at him.
| 2017-02-24T09:15:06 | 2017-02-24T08:08:55 | 37 | 14 |
[WP] You're a biologist who made a deal with the devil: eternity in hell after death in return for unlimited funding for your research. The funding was worth it, you discovered immortality, and the devil is not happy about this. | He sat up, panting quietly as he relaxed again. If he had properly seen what the microscope showed, he had finally cracked it. He removed the slide from the microscope, walking over to the pill fabricator.
"It acts as an antidote to poisoning..." he muttered to himself, smiling in triumph. "It's a cure for all known diseases, it prevents the body from bleeding out, it reduces the body's nutritional requirement to practically nothing, it even reinforces the skeleton to stop crushing from being fatal... there's no method of death this cannot prevent. All I need now..." the machine pinged and a small drawer slid out of the bottom. There was a simple white pill, no larger than a cat's claw, but he knew the power it contained. Nothing less than immortality. He snatched it from the drawer and raised it to the sky, triumphant. "All I need is this pill."
"Indeed." a voice echoed from behind him. He turned, shocked. The lab was supposed to be secure! Who had... oh. It was *her.* "You never told me this was your research direction." She crossed her arms, clearly less than impressed. Her form-fitting dress complimented her body wonderfully, hugging her impressive curves. It stopped just below her shoulders and above her knees, revealing her red leggings and shapely limbs. He would have been enamoured all over again, were it not for the fiery scowl she wore. He could literally see the fire flickering in the back of her eyes.
"If I had, you would have never agreed to it." he replied. "We both know how expensive the ingredients were. Humans likely won't be able to reproduce one for a *long* time."
"We both know that's not why I'm here." she replied curtly, brushing a stray lock of blonde hair away from her red eyes. "You've cheated."
"How have I cheated? I promised you my soul upon my death and that is what I intend to do." it was his turn to fold his arms. He had cheated the devil.
"But you can no longer die, can you? Using my own money like that." she grinned slightly, licking her lip briefly. "If I wasn't so impressed, I'd probably take your soul now. After all, where's your evidence that the pill worked on humans? You only had one blood sample." His pride died down a little as she pointed this out... but his pride came back quickly enough.
"You wouldn't have come here if it wasn't the right ingredient. You would have just let me die."
"Well, I can see now there's a reason you took this job." she grinned a little more. "Very well, since you cannot die I cannot claim your soul." she turned around to face a blank wall. The paint started to bubble and peel as a large oval started to heat up, forming a damned portal. "There's one thing I want to ask you, though. You may have cheated death..." she turned to face him. He recoiled; her eyes were truly those of the devil's, amber and slitted like a cat's. "But can you cheat time?" | (This is my first post. I wrote it on my phone so of course please excuse the poor format.)
At last, I watched the insect start to twitch, then it flipped over to its legs again. It started to walk around. It was alive.
I jumped up in joy. I shouted, "Eureka!" I was going to be a millionaire. Best of all, I had cheated death; I had cheated the devil.
I felt a presence next to me and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the devil himself. I smirked a bit; the last time I had seen him was when we had made the deal. I supposed he was here because I had broken it.
"You broke the deal," he said shortly.
I turned to face him, placing a hand on the counter and shifting my weight to lean on it. I accidentally crushed the insect, but as I rose my hand curiously, it was already scuttling around.
"I did no such thing," I replied. "The deal was simple: unlimited funding for my research in exchange for eternity in hell with you. I'm just using my research money."
"I'm not stupid, I know what you're doing!" the devil shouted, watching the insect crawl around on the counter.
"Why didn't you try to stop me, then?" I asked. "If you knew what I was researching, you could've stopped me."
The devil hesitated. I had defeated him once again. "This isn't fair!" he eventually cried. "We made a deal. You can't do this!"
"Sorry," I shrugged, not sorry at all. "Maybe you'll get me when I die for an eternity in hell..." I trailed off, hoping he would take the bone.
"But you won't die," he said shortly. "This is stupid."
"Sorry," I said again. "Thanks for the money, though, I really appreciate that. I'm gonna be a millionaire with this serum!"
The devil scowled, eyeing the insect once more. I smirked in triumph. I had successfully cheated the devil. | 2018-08-23T11:20:34 | 2018-08-23T10:40:20 | 174 | 28 |
[WP] Secret agencies all around the world know you as the greatest spy who has ever lived. However, the truth is that you're simply an ordinary person who accidentally got mistaken as a spy years ago and simply can't convince people that you're not. | As she turned toward the register, her elbow knocked into the trio of cups and sent them flying. She dropped the coins in her hands and managed to arrest two of the piping hot vessels on their descent. Reflexively, unthinkingly, she brought her knee up and made contact with the third cup. This contact launched it backward at just the right angle to explode in the face of the poor chap behind her in line.
She heard the wet splat and expected groan of disgust and turned, wincing, to apologize. As she made her about face, she noticed two things: first, that the gentleman behind her had managed to dodge, causing her accidental projectile to stain the shirt of the woman third in line instead. Second, a cacophony of wooden chair legs screeching on the tile floor as every patron in every chair rocketed to their feet. In the wet, red face of her spluttering victim she recognized the French woman.
*Not this again.*
“I’m sorry,” she shrugged, staring down the army of gleaming barrels that had burst into the open out of strollers, shopping bags, sports coats. “Accident,” she insisted. She waved her full hands in response, hoping they’d wrap this up faster than last Tuesday’s catastrophe. She knew better than to adopt the meek, innocent postures she’d tried at first—any hint of denial only made them more indignant. *Hurry. If you’re late again, they’ll give your class to Kim.* The 8 AM intermediate class was the best paying, each mother still hoping their little one might one day be an Olympian.
She scanned the room for an ally, or at least someone she might reason with. The man behind her in line was new, but he was clearly playing the game: his silenced Ruger trembled inches from her face. Not him then. At a window table, she spied the statuesque Russian slumping to conceal her figure. Standing beside her with a baby harness strapped to his chest was the cute Israeli.
“Is that a new haircut, Eliot?”
He froze, clearly surprised to have been made. *Did he honestly think it would fool me? He’s here every week! And the baby’s legs aren’t even moving.*
“I like it,” she smiled.
He flushed, and the barrel of his gun dipped. Encouraged by his moment of hesitation, she stepped forward toward the door. Despite hailing from every named country and bearing ever-shifting enmities and allegiances, the crowd drew a step back from her with uniform terror. *Seriously?*
“We don’t want any trouble, Jenn,” Eliot said quietly.
“Neither do I.” She waved the coffee cups again to signify her harmlessness. *I’m not even armed, assholes. I’m never armed! Can’t you tell?* Like always, it backfired. Two dozen fingers tightened in unison around a dozen triggers.
She closed her eyes in frustration and tilted her head back toward the ceiling to collect herself.
She rolled the warm cardboard of one of the cups against her forehead. The shop was utterly silent.
She let exasperation creep into her voice. “Could you assholes maybe just stop showing up to my coffee shop?” She opened her eyes. *Well?*
“Perhaps you should not drink the coffee,” Ilana intoned carefully, peering out from behind her bangs.
“Seriously?”
Ilana shrugged almost apologetically.
“It wasn’t us,” the French woman said nervously.
“It was not any of us,” Ilana added irritably. “Too much heat.”
Jenn shrugged. “I don’t care who it was, just cut it out. I’m late for work.” She took another tentative step toward the door. The sea of handguns parted silently for her as she inched forward. As she passed each agent, they lowered their barrel begrudgingly. Except one.
The man with lightning reflexes, the new fella from behind her in line, who chambered a round.
*Shit!* As she dropped to the floor, she flung one of the coffees at his face and the other at his feet. She slid under the table holding the milk and sugar and upended it, prayed it would stop at least one of his bullets. *So that’ll be a no on work then.* This was much worse than last Tuesday. This was shaping up to be as bad as the movie theater in LA three years ago.
She heard two slugs bite into the heavy wooden table. One punched through, showering her in splinters. One must have caught. A footstep, a third shot, and a thud.
Nothing.
She peered around the side of the table. The new man lay dead on the floor, face wet with hot coffee. The anxious French woman’s gun still pointed at him.
She scanned the room, and the room scanned her. She stood, brushing her shirt off.
“Allies?” stammered the French woman.
“You’d better not be here tomorrow,” Jenn managed, trying to keep her gaze from lingering on the corpse. *Firmer. They’re afraid of you, Jenny, use it.*
She glared at each in turn. *For good measure.* To the French woman, at last, she gave a nod. The woman relaxed immediately. To Eliot, *why not,* a wink.
She let the door swing closed behind her and tried not to look back. She hoped that when she made it to the studio, her job was still waiting for her. | Is this karma, I wonder?
My whole life was established by the fact that I was at the wrong place at the wrong time, almost as if some invisible path was drawn for me and I always foolishly followed it. From the top of my head, I can remember various situations that had led me to this particular point.
The first time I saw both of my parents having sex, I had a nightmare that night and I was looking for their comfort, only to find a violent, intense scene worse that whatever nightmare I had. I was frozen, I wept, but it was a silent, inaudible cry.
Its almost as if my presence was completely erased that night. It took them an hour to notice my presence. No years of psychology could erase that scene.
There are more memories like that, situations where I always followed that invisible path, leading me to learn things I wasn't supposed to learn. The many secrets I heard in school, of my classmates, my teachers. The many secrets I learned just by walking down the street, the murders, robberies, the spies from other countries. The many secrets I learned just by staying in my house.
And all the repercussions that spitting out those secrets had, all the lives I ruined. My parents, my friends, my own life. One particular man called it a blessing, being capable of learning things like that and always come out *unscratched* all of this just by *being there*, almost as if some God was protecting me, guiding me.
I hated that, that's why I ran away from *everything*, hid in a town in the middle of nowhere, expecting the many layers of snow cover my tracks. I started a new life, got a simple job. Every time I thought that invisible path was in front of me again I immediately went the other direction. I met new people, simple people with simple lives.
It was boring, and I liked boring, I had stayed in that state of existence for many, many years. Repeating the same activities like a madman, not caring much about other people, but not enough that they would shun me and not enough so I couldn't learn something relevant about their personal life.
But still, it wasn't enough, huh?
"It's you isn't it?" a rasped, almost crying voice said as it pressed a gun to my head, all of the people in the room, the people I had lived with for over four years were looking at me with scorn and disappointment "You're here for us aren't you? you're the spy...!"
Ah, this is definitely karma.
"...no, I'm not. P- Please..." I repeated between painful breaths the same line for the hundredth time, not noticing that that only made this man angrier, my arms and legs were tied to a wooden chair and the winter coat I had was taken from me making this cold more unbearable that it should be.
How much time had passed I wonder? since the interrogations started and how much time I had left before these revolutionary soldiers decided to end my life?
I heard the click of a gun and through my hazy vision, I saw the metallic object ready to take my life.
*All I wanted was a bit of coffee since I ran out, I just went to the nearest house, how was I supposed to know at this particular night, at this particular hour I would stumble upon a secret meeting? of soldiers ready to take over this country by force*
*I should have known better, considering the path my life took.*
Closing my eyes a bang came, loud enough that I knew that a life had ended. but not mine. More bangs came, destroying everything in their path, turning glass into broken pieces, wood into splinters and meat into mush. Not once did one of those bullets reach me, no matter how hard I wanted them to. The bullets kept coming from every direction, for how long I wouldn't know, but the moment someone kneeled in front of me I knew it was over.
It was the man who said I was blessed, a military man. I was surrounded by soldiers of our country. How did they know I was here? *why* did they knew I was here?
He didn't answer, he only signaled at his left eye and smiled.
As I watched the destruction I brought, the corpses of the people that I had lived with for nearly four years, their blood all over my body... all I did was wept, but it was a silent, inaudible cry.
***
Critiques are welcome! - [r/Onni21](https://www.reddit.com/r/Onni21/)
| 2018-01-01T09:37:37 | 2018-01-01T09:22:29 | 31 | 12 |
[WP] When someone turns 18, they may use one adjective on themselves boost that part 10 fold. Strong, fast, smart, no one expects your adjective. | I stand to the side, a shadow amongst the crowd, waiting.
Everyday feels the same as it did in school growing up, ignored, passed over, just part of the background.
I watch as people walk by, I've observed enough to be able to tell what word they chose.
The ones who chose popular and their gangs of sychophants trailing behind them.
The grotesque bulging of muscles of those who chose strong.
The smart and their constant chatter to themselves as they wander across the city, their minds working too fast to be able to focus on any single thing.
Ah here's my time now.
I walk forward as the doors open, sliding in behind some one going inside.
I walk through the lobby, bypassing the metal detectors and follow my target into an elevator.
I stand to the side and wait, ignored by everyone as they enter and exit as their floors pass by.
My target exits and I follow, a few paces behind.
He walks to a door and scans a badge before pressing his thumb to a panel.
As the door opens I walk on Infront of him intent on getting past before the door can close me out but he stops at the opening.
"It seems I was the right choice for this job, perhaps a better choice than you were."
I turn stunned, he can't know I'm even here.
"We have known about you for months, I've seen you outside my home, seen you ride the same train as me, watched you as you stood outside this very building, waiting for a way to get inside."
"You see, I am "perceptive", I notice everything. That is why I am employed here. And I know about you. You aren't the first person to choose the word "nonentity" even though that's is typically not a valid choice."
"And now that you have made it this far into this secure facility you have proven yourself, the CIA would like to offer you a job, pleas have a seat." | Honestly, I was quite surprised that no one had chosen mine before. It would have taken only a slightly above average understanding of the english language.
I guess that's what happens when you leave it up to 18 year olds to decide what they want to be for the rest of their life. You get a bunch of kids with basic superpowers.
I wasn't so dumb however. I planned it since this strange anomaly became a thing less than a year ago. I was perfectly inline for it.
Everyone pestered me about it until the day it happened, and as tradition, stayed up until it was well past the time I was born. Less than a year and it's already been incorporated into human culture.
Well, none of that would matter soon. I would be able to do whatever I wanted.
As I sat there in silence, it finally came time. I proudly declared:
"Omnipotent"
And nothing could stop me. | 2022-01-02T04:00:48 | 2022-01-02T03:07:10 | 56 | 25 |
[WP] A phenomena begins to occur where newborn babies are found amidst the aftermath of natural disasters. Tsunamis, avalanches, wild fires, destructive lightning storms, etc. These 'Storm-Born' humans grow up with powers based on the disasters that birthed them. | She was hardly the first storm-born to appear. Reports of them popping up all over the world had begun years ago.
Earthquakes.
Tornados.
Floods.
Each with devastating consequences. Natural disasters that caused bloodshed and claimed lives. Seemingly, they didn’t have much else in common, other than the destruction they left behind.
But from the wreckage of these disasters, something else emerged. Newborn infants. Rescue crews began to find them, scattered in the debris, sometimes crying, sometimes happily playing amidst the wreckage. These infants seemed harmless at first, but they were quickly deemed dangerous. People were dispatched to collect these children and keep them in secure facilities where their powers could be monitored. The world lived in fear of these tiny children. Innocent, but unknowingly capable of mass destruction. World governments scrambled to collect them, for their own protection, they claimed. But rumors of secret experiments, of armies, of brutal training and dangerous accidents were rampant, and soon storm-born were hunted to the ends of the earth by various factions of power across the world.
In the midst of this chaos, a young couple walks on the beach, hand in hand. This is a long-standing tradition of theirs, especially during a storm. They love to watch the lightning dance along the water, and on the rare occasions that it strikes the sand, they gather the resulting glass and marvel at the beauty that the storms can create.
This storm is intense. More powerful than usual. They can feel the electricity in the air as they walk down the beach, wondering if they should turn around. The sky darkens, and an enormous bolt of lightning shoots from the sky, striking the sand and leaving smoldering wreckage behind. As if the storm is now satisfied, it disperses, and the sky returns to its normal blue.
The couple head towards the smoke, eager to see what sort of glass sculpture has been created this time. As they approach, they hear a small noise. This fulgurite is indeed ornate, shaped like a small basin. And in the middle of the bed of glass rests a baby girl, sleeping peacefully.
The couple glance at each other wordlessly. They know what the life of a storm-born is like. They’ve seen the fear in the eyes of the children when they are trotted out and paraded around as proof of the government’s might. A reminder that the storm-born may be powerful, but those who control them will rule the world.
They glance around, but the beach is deserted. As they reach into the glass sculpture to scoop up the infant, they look at each other again, smiling now. They’ve always wanted a baby.
* &#x200B;
That’s my origin story, pretty much. I grew up, attending a normal public school. I hid amongst the others, blending in. And most of the time, I can forget. I can pretend to be a normal girl. Most of the time, the skies are blue.
But sometimes, like today, the wind blows. Leaves are shaken from the trees, swirling around in tantalizing patterns on the sidewalk. The smell of lightning is in the air.
And my blood whispers to me.
Electricity crackles through my veins, chaotic and wild. I can feel it bubbling beneath the surface. I gasp, trying to hold back the floodgates as shivers run up and down my spine.
The sky darkens.
Others cower, running to seek shelter. I move in the opposite direction, toward the heart of the storm. The beach where I was created. Waves crash wildly onto the shore. The water is dark and tumultuous. My hair whips wildly around me as the wind dances across my face, and I laugh. Sparks dance over my body and my blood comes alive. Something inside me is building, endlessly powerful, and I can feel the imminent surrender coming.
The storm is calling me home. | The bell rang, the children awoke, the teachers prepared their classrooms and The Matron watched through her many surveillance cameras.
Her attention was focused, today, on three children. Their files lay open beside her.
Ignis Premogen, twelve, found nestled amongst the ashes of the Great Fire, a wildfire that ravaged Canada.
Floctus Premogen, ten, found floating happily amongst the driftwood of the Great Wave, a tsunami that destroyed much of Japan.
Contrem Premogen, thirteen, found hidden in the
rubble of a fallen building after the Great Quake, an earthquake that threatened to tear Taiwan in half.
The children, found as babies, were taken in by various families until their powers began to shine. At the age of six, Ignis set the shirt of her school's bully alight. Floctus made the water of her favourite pool rise up and flow over her pesky brother. Contrem got so angry he made the ground shake and sink below his own mother.
Well, we have our ways of knowing things that must be known, of finding people who must be found. Contrem's parents reported what happened to the news, in some ill-concieved grab at fame, and they were mightily surprised when their troubled son didn't return home from the interview that never was. Floctus, we nabbed from the sea when she went swimming on a little family holiday - they most certainly believe her to be drowned. And Ignis, well, one day she simply vanished from the house she had set fully ablaze. Everyone was far too concentrated on the fire to notice our humble van slowly roll past. To see the doors open and shut as some small, limp figure was shoved inside.
Ah, The Matron thought to herself, it surely isn't very nice to speak of these children so coldly. But *we*, we are doing God's work. Why will we have to pour so much money, so many men, into our army when we have a battalion of feisty young adults, each with the power to destroy whole nations?
Never again will soldiers return home from war, with broken bodies and shattered minds. Never again will multi-country wars break out, stealing the lives of thousands, millions, all too quickly. Never again will freedom be supressed, will free speech be quietened, will the leftists complain.
We will nourish these young ones, nurture them, feed them the truth - our truth. And when they have grown, when they understand that our nation is the nation to save all others, that must intervene and stop the bloody wars, then we may begin.
The world will tremble at the sight of them, at the sight of the beautiful flag that they carry, and it will all start with those three.
Ignis.
Floctus.
Contrem. | 2019-08-06T07:39:13 | 2019-08-06T07:03:49 | 51 | 24 |
[WP] One sundaymorning everyone wakes up with the worst crime they've ever committed tattooed on their forehead. It's breaking news on television. Yours says 'thief', your husband's says 'cheater'. As you go wake up your seven year old daughter, you see the word 'murderer' tattooed on her forehead.
[removed] | I could live with the killer tattoo across my forehead. I knew what I signed up for, five tours of duty in an infantry unit and I knew when I woke up what my sin would be.
My wife had adultery across hers, I already knew. She confessed after my last tour, said she would understand if I didn’t want her in my life any more.
I forgave her, and we had worked right past it. I left the service to fulfill my vows to her. We got right with God, became church going people and accepted the past as being forgiven.
I’ve never held it against her. My own sin was a different story. I felt guilt because the act of killing never bothered me, the assholes I shot in the Middle East were the worst kind of people. But they were still people. Shouldn’t I feel something?
Our son came down for breakfast, his said lust. Go figure, a sixteen year old boy who is full of lust. He didn’t say anything, we didn’t judge. We’d talk about it later, right now we just needed to be together.
After a few minutes our seven year old daughter hadn’t come out of her room, despite being asked to come join us for breakfast. My wife went to get her, and I could hear her talking to our daughter through the bedroom door.
“Honey, everyone has a tattoo. Mommy and daddy, even Tommy. We promise we will love you no matter what the tattoo says, just come on out and be with us so we can face this together.”
I couldn’t hear my daughters response, but my wife continued talking through the door, “I promise honey, you can’t have done anything to make us not love you.....yes I’m positive, please come on out.”
The door opens and my wife audibly gasps and my daughter slams the door closed and begins sobbing loudly. I get up and head down the hall.
“What’s the deal honey?” I ask my wife, she’s pale and holding herself up on the wall nearly hyperventilating.
“I....don’t..., you....go in.” She couldn’t even speak coherently.
I opened my daughter’s door and went in, she was sobbing over her pillow, I couldn’t see the tattoo.
“Honey it’s ok, my tattoo has one of the worst things a human can do to another person. You’re not going to lose our love, please turn over and talk to me.”
“You promise you won’t hate me?” She asks with her head still down. “Even if it’s something terrible?”
“I promise honey.” Wondering what sin a seven year old could’ve committed that would make me hate her.
Then my life changes, my sweet little girl turns over with tears spilling down her face and her tattoo makes my heart sink. I feel like my stomach has been pulled out of my body, like I’m going to puke.
I understand why my wife was unable to move and still hasn’t come into the room. The events of the worst night of our lives sink into place.
We never knew why he stopped breathing, he was past the usual age that children die from SIDS. We didn’t have anything in the crib to suffocate him. Doctors said it happened, but rarely.
Our nearly two year old son had died that night. And my little girl’s tattoo, said FRATRICIDE. | July 22, 2143 was an interesting day. That was the day God, aliens, the Illuminati or some other higher being decided to put our sins on display. Everyone around the world got a "tattoo". Some group of scientist, who all had Torture on thier forehead learned that it was actually you skin pigment permanently damage and guilt over blah blah blah. Doesn't matter. What does matter was my pregnant wife, who I was married to for 5 years had Cheater on her forehead. When I looked in the mirror, I had Abuser on mine.
Lots of stuff happened that day. Riots, anarchy, a few assassination attempts on politicians. Some were successful. Businesses shut down, massive fires raged through big cities. I could hear people shouting, sirens coming and going and the occasional gun shot. Safe to say, the world was ending and I just sat across the kitchen table while my wife cried.
I poured myself some scotch. The real stuff, over 80 years old, not the stuff that your fridge makes. It was only 9am but I needed a drink. I poured my wife's daily pregnancy medicine. I handed her the clear liquid and took a swig of mine.
"Im not surprised" I said first breaking the silence. "I know what I was when i was drinking." I emptied my cup, rattling the ice inside. My first drink in 2 years.
"Im sorry." Was all she could say, in fact that was all she kept saying. Over an over. I poured myself another drink.
"Im not mad, really I'm not. I was an asshole and pushed you away. I was drunk 90% of the time and even... hurt you. More than once." I downed my drink and poured another.
"Charles" she started, "it was a long time ago and I-" I cut her off.
"No need to explain, Jessica." I finished my third drink and took a deep breath. "But I need to know one thing." She looked terrified. And it broke my heart. The last time I remember seeing her this scared when I was drunk and yelling.
"Is the guy anyone I know?" She exhaled, looked relieved.
"No," she said, no longer terrified, "it's no one you know."
"Okay, then." | 2019-09-16T12:24:24 | 2019-09-16T11:27:41 | 145 | 17 |
[WP] Since you were born you could see a search bar over people's heads. All you had to do was think and the search bar would fill out and give you information/statistics. Out of boredom one day you decide to search your whole family with"Number of people killed" | 1 result.
There it was, a name that only I could see, floating silently above my father's head. My father the murderer; standing there with his back turned, chopping carrots at the bench.
"Dad," I said, my voice trembling. He must have heard the quiver, because he stopped and turned to me, concern etched upon his face.
"Yes Sam? Is everything ok?" He sounded genuinely worried. I mean, he was always genuine, wasn't he? But then why... I had to know.
"Do you remember how grandad died?" I blurted it out, a little too fast, and it took dad by surprise. His eyes widened, but he covered it by averting his gaze and clearing his throat.
"Lung cancer," he said quietly, "horrible way to go."
I nodded my agreement. I could sense his pain, and it made me hesitate. I wasn't sure how to approach the subject. How do you even begin? But the silence was deafening. I *had to know.*
"I remember," I said. "But, well... We all knew he was terminal, but the doctor said he still had a few months. It was just... Unexpected..."
Dad was stock-still now, standing there with that great big knife in his hand like some macabre statue. The moment drew out to infinite, frozen in time.
In an instant, the tension was broken.
My father lifted his knife, placing it gently next to the carrots. He turned back to me, and for the first time I could see the tears in his eyes.
"Do you remember the dialysis?" he said, "the needles? The tests?"
I couldn't speak, so I nodded.
"Dad couldn't bear the pain, but more than that, he couldn't bear living out the rest of his life in a hospital bed. He-"
My father choked and turned away again, staring out the window. He stared and stared, looking for something that he couldn't find.
I knew what he was looking for, I'd already found it.
"He asked you to do it, didn't he?" | [Poem]
Thanksgiving was a shock this year, the family was to blame.
I thought I'd search for fun or maybe just check out names,
Well what a surprise to see, my families just not right,
I guess that in their off time, they go and kill at night.
Grandma had killed 12, she sat and smiled sweetly,
My sister was at 5, she must do it rather discreetly,
Uncle Bill killed 23, the highest, I'm appalled,
I guess that every family has the creepy uncle after all,
Cousin Amy had a simple 2, Cousin Mary was at 9,
Aunt Rachel had 16, she always seem'd so kind,
Mom and dad killed together, they had a "meesly" 4,
But the most surprising of them all, was sleeping on the floor,
Yes the dog had killed a few, how, I do not know,
All Ill say, is from now on, I'll pet him extra slow. | 2019-07-01T21:21:32 | 2019-07-01T20:28:33 | 717 | 347 |
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads | From Personals - Strictly Platonic
Apr 29 - Looking for spelunkers! - 29/M looking for at least one fellow spelunker to help explore cave exposed by sinkhole on family property. Call Brett at <show number>
From Community - Lost & Found
May 1 - Found: Backpack and climbing gear off 27 - Looks pretty rough, like it got dragged through gravel or something. Has the name "Brett" written inside the top flap.
From Jobs - Skilled Trade/Craft
May 14 - Exterminator needed! - Need a bug expert near Gainesville to get rid of some weird bugs. They're eating all my plants, and I think my fence, too!
From Community - Events
June 3 - Florida relief event, June 6! - Join us at the courthouse to put together relief packages for the Florida evacuees. Smoky Joe's is providing barbecue. All proceeds go to the Fight The Bugs campaign.
From Personals - Rants and Raves
June 15 - The Bugs are weapons! - I know it. You know it. We all know it. Just no one is saying it. These things are weapons. Someone made them and they got out of control. Have you seen what Florida looks like now? It's just dirt. Nothing natural does that. And now all these people are running away from them and expecting us to take care of them! I say we just wall of Ohio before the moochers get here. They'll wipe us out before the bugs get here if we let them in...
From Housing - Real Estate for Sale
July 18 - Bug-free living, only $10 million! - Ten acres of prime tundra real estate. Live where the bugs can't! Bargain!
From Post Here If You're Still Alive
November 23 - Anyone out there? - I'm posting this everywhere I can. There are a few of us in a valley in Colorado that the bugs missed. If you can make it here, please come! If not...just let us know someone else made it. | *Newest in >for sale*
Jan 23: Sports Betting, See how easy it can be to be a winner. books & magazines - by dealer [x]
Jan 25: Between Fact and Fiction, Helping you understand the real life problems and removing the anxiety over the fictional.
Feb 23: Communication Breakdown Unleashed (MRR), When you and your loved ones lose contact, learning how to reopen that communication is key no matter the distance.
Feb 28: Surviving Assaults: A Martial Artist's Guide to Weapons, Street Violence, & Countervailing Force [Book]
Mar 13: Food Foraging For Dummies: Nibbling in Nature, prepare for the inevitable
Mar 28: I don't know who may still be here, I'm using all possible pages to find people. We're held up in a school and we are trapped, send help!
Apr 1: The Road *by Cormac McCarthy*
Dec 20: The steel coffin, Getting the dead to stay dead. | 2015-04-29T10:16:26 | 2015-04-29T09:07:02 | 54 | 15 |
[WP] Humans have just entered the galactic community, using our patented versatility to make ourselves noticed. One thing, however, stands out about our culture: almost all of our scariest monsters are based off of ourselves, and a lot of aliens are getting worried about our species’ mental health. | Garrick sat, thinking. He found himself to be doing this particular activity more than what he was actually supposed to do—the relatively mindless task of typing numbers into little rectangles—as he considered his new friend, X’ytok’s words.
He didn’t dislike it. This thinking business, anyway.
“Now that I think about it,” Garrick mused. “Vampires. Werewolves. Ghosts. Witches. Banshees. Demons… huh. You are right.”
“Right? All the scariest monsters are based off humans!” X’ytok said. “We don’t have those. It is universally agreed that the scariest monsters are those horrifying G’ershurds.”
“They are just… weird little alien dogs,” Garrick said, managing to type two numbers. “Pretty fun to be around. You really need to give them a chance.”
“Me? Me?! No, not at all,” X’ytok scoffed. “But seriously. How do you guys do it?”
“Do what?”
“Think of yourselves as monsters?”
“We don’t think of ourselves as monsters,” Garrick said, before his fingers paused on the keyboard. He turned around, facing X’ytok, who nervously licked her eyeballs.
“Never mind. Actually, we do,” Garrick conceded. “But pertaining the human-like monsters? It’s fun, I guess.”
“Fun?” X’ytok mumbled. “You and I have very definitions of fun. Us X’yleans idea of fun is to congregate and sing loudly. Mostly to ward off G’ershurds.”
“Hey, humans do that too,” Garrick said, then shuddered. “But some of us don’t like that. Too many sweaty people.”
“See, that’s what I don’t get,” X’ytok said. “You guys never agree on anything. How do any of you function? Isn’t your time just wasted from arguing with each other.”
“We don’t… never mind, we do,” Garrick sighed, before thoughtfully placing a finger on his chin. “But you know how all the X’yleans are in this department?”
“Yeah?”
“But you can find humans everywhere? Like, we might not be the best engineers, compared to the Kolshars, but we do pretty well for ourselves. And the Blocos have all those security guards because they are terrifyingly huge—”
“Muscles. Just pure muscles.”
“—but you can find humans there too. And yes, I only have ten fingers compared to your twenty, but I do this typing thing pretty well, no?”
“I’ve filled two spreadsheets while your hands were barely moving.”
“The human can be anything,” Garrick said. “So why not a monster?”
X’ytok clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, which produced a sound much like a woodpecker knocking on wood.
“Isn’t that terrifying?”
“It can be,” Garrick admitted. “But it’s a large, wide scale. We are varied in the workplace, and out in the open too. Just as a human on the street can be a monster, they could be walking side by side with a man that’s… good.”
“Still,” X’ytok said. “I wonder why.”
“Maybe it’s both a reminder and inspiration,” Garrick smiled. “We all look the same. But we can choose who we want to be.”
---
r/dexdrafts | "Human Thomas, what are you drawing?"
"A Wendigo. It's a terrible, man-eating creature from our oldest mythologies. Why, do you like it?" Tom asked smiling as he held up the paper. The Zynraki took a pace back, holding its limp, moist appendages up to guard its face.
"No! It's horrid, you should leave it alone," his translator device exclaimed, probably much more terrified than he meant it to sound like.
"Oh come on, it's a drawing! Do you think it's gonna jump out of the page and get ya?" Tom teased, waving the paper towards him. "No! I'm afraid you will, Tom. That thing looks so much like you. Uhh... Your kind. What kind of creature fears itself?"
Tom paused, put the paper down and thought for a moment...
>Centuries of war with his own kind, and even today.
>
>New and inventive ways to kill one another in the name of greed, territory and pride. Poison, explosives, warp prisons, quantum deanimators-- the list is endless and only begins to start at the unsharpened stick.
>
>Literally the only thing that kept them alive through the early space years was the threat of Mutually Assured Destruction-- a promise to end all things if the other party played dirty.
>
>At times utter apathy for the other-- when its human against human it is nothing more than a blood sport compared to these other sentient races. Sure, you root for the underdog but you're still cheering on the death of another. Few humans have the empathy of these other species. You'd never see a Zynraki laughing in the face of death like humans do because we're looking down the barrel from the time we're born and grow accustomed to it...
>
>are... are we the space monsters on this space station? Are we the bad guys masquerading as some civilized race when we cannot even take care of our own species? What the hell are we even doing here?
Tom snaps out of it, confusedly, because Xyn'bka had already ran out of the room silently.
"Ugh, those prey species, always disturbed by our random existential crises." He rolls his eyes and continues detailing the severed arm in the Wendigo's mouth. | 2022-03-02T18:38:26 | 2022-03-02T18:32:36 | 629 | 259 |
[WP] "We WILL be friends, whether you like it or not, you stupid, stubborn old lizard!" - yelled the Vampire at the ancient Dragon. Because what is the point of immortality, if you have nobody to share it with? | Ferratu bounded into the Dragon’s lair without hesitation. A torrent of fire greeted him, enveloping the entire cave entrance and burning his clothes right off. "Oh come *on!*" He yelled, patting himself down to extinguish the small embers still burning on his skin. "Was that really necessary?”
A low growl reverberated from inside, sounding distinctly like a groan.
"That was my favorite high-collared cape..." Ferratu muttered, walking into the darkness undeterred. The Dragon’s inner chamber was magnificent—mountains of gold piled high, the Dragon a hulking figure nestled in the middle. “Is that new?” Ferratu asked, gesturing towards a display case at the edge of the lair. It was filled with bottles of some unknown liquid.
"Do not touch it," the Dragon growled in a deep rumbling voice.
Ferratu shrugged and took a seat on a large gilded throne placed haphazardly amid the treasures. He leaned back, making himself comfortable with one leg hanging over the armrest. “So you’ll never guess what Kathy told me the other week.”
“I don’t care,” the Dragon grumbled.
“That’s exactly it!” Ferratu exclaimed. “She said she didn’t *care* that I was a vampire! Took me totally by surprise. She'd have been a keeper if she weren't so tasty... I know I keep harping on this, but I’m telling you, Twilight has made being a vampire a *lot* easier.”
The Dragon huffed, a cloud of smoke billowing out of its nostrils, but otherwise said nothing.
“How about you?" Ferratu asked. "How’s the Dragon’s life been lately? You been getting out much?”
The Dragon remained silent.
“Oh right,” Ferratu said. “A bit hard nowadays with surface-to-air missiles... You know, there’s also been some good Dragon publicity lately. Kids movies make your kind out as big scaly dogs. If you wanted to stretch your wings I bet you could burn at least one village down before they catch on.”
The Dragon huffed again, this time turning its head away.
“Oh come *on!*” Ferratu moaned. “Look I’m putting in a real effort here! We *will* be friends, whether you like it or not.”
The Dragon’s head snapped back. “We are not, nor will we ever be *friends.* We have nothing in common.”
“Are you kidding? I’m immortal. You’re immortal. No one else is immortal. It’s a match made in hell!”
“Lobsters are immortal too,” the Dragon grumbled. “You are nothing but an inside-out crustacean to me.”
Ferratu scowled. “That’s a bit harsh. Look, we have other things in common too. You like treasure, right?”
The Dragon said nothing.
“*Right?*” Ferratu pressed.
“I do like treasure,” the Dragon said reluctantly.
“Me too! I love the stuff. Why don’t you tell me about that new display case at the corner there? What’s in it, rare magic potions?”
“Bourbon,” the Dragon replied.
“Bourbon?” Ferratu repeated, taken aback.
“See, I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
“No no! I’m just curious that’s all. I didn’t know bourbon qualified as treasure.”
“You clearly know nothing of bourbon.”
“So tell me about it.”
The Dragon hesitated, then launched into a long diatribe of the history of bourbon, and of the recent bourbon craze sweeping the nation. He began listing all the rare bottles he had collected and seemed to take great pride in the fact that he had purchased them all at “MSRP.” Ferratu asked questions, and the Dragon answered them all, becoming more and more animated as he spoke. Eventually he sauntered over to the display case and picked out a bottle with great care.
“This is Pappy Van Winkle 23," the Dragon said, holding the bottle gingerly in its claws. "Would you like to try it? I recommend drinking it neat, but perhaps I can fix you a cocktail if you find it too strong.”
Ferratu smiled. “Sorry Dragon, the only cocktails I drink are virgins.”
“Oh,” the Dragon said, clearly disappointed.
“But don’t worry. I brought one with me.” Ferratu ran outside of the lair and came back in with a smiling young woman. “Dragon, meet Jennifer. She likes Twilight. How about we toast to friendship?
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | “You dare to raise your voice at me, blood sucker? I am the great Fedelmid, King of the Dragons, descended from the great Feidlimid, King of the Dragons, feared amongst dragon-kind, and you dare order me around?” Fedelmid the Great shifted on his perch and swung his muscular tail towards the vampire, before he brought it back to his side. The vampire Dunstan did not flinch, instead he stood his ground and continued to shout.
“Fedelmid the Great? King of the Dragons? What nonsense you speak! You know as well as I that there are no dragons here but you. Your kind fled after that unfortunate incident with the saint over 500 years ago. Have you not been lonely since then?” Dunstan planted himself, chin raised, chest puffed out. Fedelmid observed the strange creature.
It had been two-hundred years since the last visitor dared to wander into the dragon’s cave. The cave was well tended, not a bone or scorch-mark in sight. Pride of place was the large stone perch, constructed by accident when Fedelmid battled the last intruder who came seeking fortune causing a large portion of the ceiling to collapse. Fedelmid had painstakingly shifted the rock to form the large pedestal-like structure he perched on. This strange creature was the first visitor the dragon had had since it was constructed, and he quite enjoyed how small and insignificant it made the vampire seem in comparison.
Dunstan seemed undeterred by the magnificence of the perch. He began to pace, back and forth and back again. He needed to convince this creature to befriend him, or he would go mad. He had only been a vampire for a hundred years, had only lived for thirty before that, but already he had lost everyone he cared about. People became suspicious when you stop aging. He had moved from place to place for the last seventy years, since his family started to comment on his looks. After a brief run-in with an angry mob, he had decided it was time to leave.
“All I’m saying is, you’re immortal, I’m immortal. Why shouldn’t we acquaint ourselves better?” he looked to the dragon, tried to understand what was going through the great beasts mind.
“I do not require company in the same way you do, blood sucker. I am above such needs.”
The vampire shrunk into himself. Fedelmid should have been pleased, but instead the great beast found himself wondering if an acquaintance such as the vampire could be useful. While the dragon enjoyed no longer having to worry about intruders, it did make it much harder to catch food. He turned to look at the small hole in the corner where the carcasses of his recent victims rested out of sight. So little food to keep the villagers from becoming concerned.
“My friend, you seem confused.” Dunstan smiled to himself, he could sense the conflicted mind of the dragon.
“Indeed. If we were to become acquaintances, would you be willing to share the burden of hunting? Of evading the suspicions of the villagers?” Fedelmid thought he could agree to such an arrangement, provide the vampire with a companion in exchange for some of the vampire’s victims. In fact, the dragon did not even like the blood, it was his least favourite part of any species. He usually drained them first anyway.
“Of course. What kind of friend would I be if I let you go hungry or left you to battle the village yourself?” Dunstan tried to keep his features neutral, battled his own instincts to spread his arms and declare his delight. A friend at last, one that would not leave him like all the others. One who could know what he was and did not find it revolting.
“Very well,” came the dragon’s reply, “I will be your friend, little blood sucker. Now, where should we hunt first?” | 2021-04-16T08:04:52 | 2021-04-16T06:36:52 | 516 | 126 |
[WP] The Planet has been invaded by Aliens, more than 50 rockets landing, which hold over 7 Billion of them. The Aliens say that they didn't realise that there was life on this planet and they arrived to move from their polluted planet, Earth. | The Council of the Xia consisted of three elders, each older than even the formation of the council and the Xia Tribe. They governed the second largest Tribe on the plant Parados, beaten only by the Zvener Tribe. The council met once every sun rotation and for the first time since Zvener's surprise attack, they met for the second time in a single sun rotation.
"Unspeakable," Councilman Shara said. She was born a beautiful and full violet, the ideal prize for Noble Men. But under her adept hands, she had carved her charm into a weapon and solidified her place on the Council. "The aliens destroyed their world and now they are here to destroy ours."
"Shara." Councilman Prixis dug his blood-red nails into the soft oak table that stood between them. Only his side wore the scars of his stress. "We are nearly out of options. The Zvener are strong, much stronger than we had ever thought."
"Our planet's affairs are of no concern to foreign invaders," Shara shot back.
"Do you say we turn our back on the Xia tribe? Let it slowly fall beneath Zvener weaponry?"
"We will fight as our fathers have done."
"And unlike our fathers, we will lose."
"Enough." Councilman Greyor raised his hand, silencing both. Of the Councilmen, he was the oldest, having existed since the birth of Tribes. "I have seen more battles fought than rotations of the sun. The Paradosis have always been a violent race. It is our farce that violence is the only thing that can kill us. But we are Xia before Paradosis, we must act for the better of our tribe."
Shara nibbled on her lip and crossed her arms. She kept silent. Greyor and Prixis together had outvoted her.
Unlike Shara and Prixis, Greyor did not have a single color, nor was he ever considered beautiful. He held the black of oil and spots of dark jade green like oil upon water. But he was a frightening warrior and possibly the oldest Paradosis in the world in competition with Draxo, the High Councilman of Zvener.
Prixis clawed off a chunk of oak. He pressed his lips together into a tight line. "Then we will use these alien invaders."
"We will use them with caution," Greyor said. "We do not know their appetite for war. I pray that it is less than ours."
---
Captain O'Connor checked her watch again. Another two minutes had passed. Representatives of the Xia Tribe had told her that the Council would adjourn within the hour, but already it had been two. Her ship, the one containing the United States of America, was called the USS Manifest. She had named it herself to counter the trembling legs and quivering lips of all those who entered her ship.
Manifest Destiny. Humans would finally conquer the far reaches of space itself! But few believed her lie. They were running from a dead planet that they themselves had killed.
She smashed a fist into her stainless steel desk. This planet wasn't supposed to be inhabited. She had thought that arriving first would give them a head start to claim as much territory as they could before the Russians and the Chinese arrived. But that was a fleeting dream, which was why she had Plan B locked in the storage of her ship. Weaponry--all the horrors of their fourth world war all shoved in there like some modern day Pandora's Box.
Though she didn't want to repeat the horrors of Earth, she was an American before an Earthling. Her duty was to her country and without adequate resources, 300 million American citizens would slowly wither away. No, she would claim as much land as possible, as much resources as possible so her country could prosper once more.
---
Councilman Draxo stood face-to-face with the alien that had landed outside his capital. The man resembled him except none of them had the vibrant colors of beauty, instead, except for a few variations, they were mostly homogenous.
"You tell me that this is not the only ship to land on Parados?" he asked.
The man shook his head. Everything about the man was stiff, from his back, to his arms, even the way he shook his head. "The others will have landed in varying... Tribes across the world."
"And each carries weaponry of your caliber?"
The man nodded. "Some even more frightening."
The other two Councilmen gasped and turned toward each other, but Draxo kept his stare on this strange alien man. "So the first to use such weapons will take all of Parados," he said, a smile parting between his teal lips.
"That's correct. The Zvener tribe will finally take this world," the man said. "We will await your decision inside our ship, but I must warn you--do not keep Mother Russia."
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more! | The ships landed on the planet *identical* to Earth. Not close-to identical, not within the habitable zone of the sun, but the planet that was an exact replica of Earth. The survivors of the Exodus, now split into a few individual ships, landed across the planet. Each rocket greeted by a host of a hostile species.
"They're human," Chief Scientist Ellen O'hare said. She analyzed the photos in front of her, the ones taken from the ships external sensors. They showed a bipedal race, complete with two arms, two eyes, a jutting nose, a mouth, ears and external body hair. In relation to the people onboard the ships, they were extremely familiar. These members of the race in particular wore anything from tan camouflage to black flak armor. "They're replicas of us."
"How is that even possible?" Military Director Owen Hernandez said. He wore a similar outfit to the race outside the ship and held a gun that was all too similar. "We left Earth. All seven billion of us, that was the whole point!"
"I don't know," she said, "something must've happened. The FTL drive was experimental, it could've backfired."
"You're proposing it sent us back in time?" Kristine Baker said. She was the elected leader of the command ship. She, and the other forty-nine ships, were to convene this afternoon on the planet's surface. Yet with forty-four ships not reporting and the Unidentified race, that was a problem.
"Not back in time, not forward in time, but," O'hare shrugged, "perhaps to another dimension."
"What?" Hernandez said.
"The FTL drive bends space and time around us. *We* don't actually move." Ellen pulled up a holographic image of the original Exodus ship, what all fifty smaller ships were originally connected to. The image distorted as the hologram went into FTL, then reappeared as the ship began to break apart. Six of the fifty original ships broke away with the Command shuttle, while the other forty-four disappeared. "In between those five seconds of distortion, the ship could've brought us to an alternate dimension. Well, some of us."
"One where there is still an Earth, and seven billion people living on it?"
"Listen, I know it sounds improbable, but..." Ellen shrugged, "It's the only hypothesis I have."
Baker leaned her hands on the holographic table. She, Hernandez, and O'hare sat in the Command Deck of the ship, with assorted crew members around them. She sighed and her nose crinkled. "Today was to be a new start on a new planet," she said, "not whatever this is."
"Orders then, ma'am?" Hernandez asked.
"Could we put the ship back together?" She said, "Try again?"
"I have the original Exodus designs," O'hare said, "but I'd need the raw material and manpower. And we'd need to adjust the change for only six ships instead of fifty." O'hare looked at Baker and raised an eyebrow, "You think the other forty-four made it?"
"Let's hope so." Baker rubbed her eyes, the lack of sleep getting to her, "Okay, let's open the hatch. See if we can't talk to these people about letting us go home."
Hernandez laughed.
"Something funny, Captain?"
"Ma'am, if I was the military commander in charge of this op right now, and a dozen humans walked out of a spacecraft that fell from the sky, claiming they wanted to go home," he shrugged and flicked the safety of off his rifle, "well, I'd probably say they're already home."
Baker frowned, "This isn't our home. Earth isn't any version of humanity's home."
"Then what is it, ma'am?"
"It's our tomb," O'hare said.
_________
*/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work, or consider following my profile!* | 2017-05-21T08:13:24 | 2017-05-21T08:01:03 | 66 | 28 |
[WP] You are the super villain that defeated the super hero and conquered the earth. You walk out onto your balcony to law down the law for your new subjects. You are greeted by a massive crowd and genuine cheers. | Hunger. Eat. Consume. Her. My tendrils curled around Hyper Woman, shadowy things that should not be. My many maws twisted into smiles as I felt her bones cracking under my grip. One bladed tentacle raised, poised to shoot through her heart. I half expected some force on high to stop me, but nothing could save Hyper Woman now. The tendril shot through her, the superhero's eyes widening in abject horror, before going glassy. My grip relented, and the tendril retracted, before my arch nemesis fell. My body re-constituted itself into how it was before, hiding my true form of a "impossible".
My cold, fake eyes scanned the crowd. I could eat them all now. Nobody would come to save them. Each one of those confused looks could blink out before they had time to react to my maw--
Wait, confused?
One human, in her 20s, poked at the corpse of Hyper Woman, not quite cold yet. "She's... dead?" I couldn't read her expression.
"Yes." I replied, not even trying to hide my sparse grasp of english. I straightened my tie and dusted off the fake fleshy suit, slicking back my faux hair.
And suddenly, applause.
It was my turn to be confused. The whole of the crowd exploded into cheers and applauds, helicopters dancing overhead with spotlights trained on me. Suddenly, my eyes focused, and created genuine emotion. Confusion. This hadn't been expected at all.
Then they began melting. Confusion turned to slight familiarity as the buildings, the crowd, and the helicopters dissolved into nether contaminated flesh, all of it culminating into a single mass. Eyes opened on it, staring at me. The sky turned purple and black, as I could see the stars once more. Massive tentacles burst from the ground leading into the monster that was oh-so familiar, as the world was revealed for what it was-- a barren wasteland.
"Well done, son!" The mass spoke, opening several mouths at once. "You took a bit longer than I was expecting, but what matters is that you succeeded."
I looked down at the corpse of Hyper Woman, now revealed for what she was-- a training synthetic. The robot rose, and began to applaud me. In a British accent it spoke, careful and natural. "Good show, sir. "
"... So this was all... what?" I asked. I wasn't angry, in fact I was quite happy. But just so downright confused. "The transfer, the dimensional portal, the combat..."
"A simulation, son." My father said. "You **were** enrolled in the Warrior program, that is true. But your transfer was just to this planet-- your training world. Surprise." He said in a jubilant tongue. The training synthetic folded its arms behind its back.
"... Huh." I merely said, shifting into my true form, a bipedal mass of tentacles, violet flesh, eyes, and maws. "So what next?" All mouths spoke at once.
"Now, the real thing." Father said, most of his mouths grinning wildly. Mine did too. We both laughed.
The real Hyper Woman was off punching muggers and fighting everyday crime, unaware that very hungry jaws were approaching, trained and prepared.
After all, every hero needs a good villain. | His knuckles were bruised, shaking. Bare bone was exposed under the tattered skin and gashes that covered both hands. At his feet was his rival, his friend, his enemy, his confidant. His equal.
The pool of blood inched closer and closer to Apex's feet, until he stepped back at the sight of himself in the red mirror on the floor. Apex, or rather, Douglas, approached Hollis' body and lifted it out of the grisly pool, stroking his hair away from his face and cleaning streaks of blood off of Hollis' forehead.
"I had wished you would be the one to kill me. Seven long years of fighting after hundreds of years of searching. This was meant to be my end, and you would deny me once more?" Douglas carried Hollis' body out of the cabin and past the treeline into the brush, stopping next to a young birch tree, the white bark in stark contrast to the dull browns and vibrant greens that surrounded it. Douglas let Hollis down gently, then began preparing a small gravesite. His hands twisted in the air and the world bent around him. The smallest bushes grew like wildfire, the vines and leaves twisting themselves into ornate patterns, surrounding Hollis in scenes from his life as a hero and as a human. Flowers intertwined themselves into the knots of the coffin, speckling it in reds, yellows, and white. A second wave of his hand and the ground opened to swallow the coffin, only it was stopped just before the ground could take it. Douglas touched the birch tree deftly and it grew. Branches split and folded into themselves while the trunk grew taller and wider, and once the sound of cracking wood had died down the birch stood as a simple monument, an arch that read "Hollis Danton, the last hero."
Douglas waved his hand a final time and the woods around his cabin quieted. The door stuck slightly when Douglas tried to open it, some of Hollis' blood had dried under it. The bucket and mop made for slow work of the mess that he'd made with Hollis, but Douglas was glad to be kept busy. The TV droned on about the issues that would be solved by regulating and monitoring those that develop or are given powers, but he was more than glad to be left alone. | 2017-05-23T13:09:20 | 2017-05-23T10:56:07 | 80 | 22 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "What?!" I sputtered. "How is this possible? What did I *do* to get that?!"
Satan put down the book of sentencing with an exasperated sigh and said, "Look kid, I don't make the punishments, the big guy only makes me hand them out as part of my parole." Seems he was used to saying this.
"B-but *how*? How did-"
Satan rolled his eyes. "Because the real Hell is more Aligherian, and not anything like that rat bastard Milton wrote. Joke's on him, I got him in the sixth circle for heresy."
"That's nice and all, but I meant what did *I* do to end up here? I just don't get it."
"It says here that you've committed some 7,500 cases of murder in your lifetime, and remarkably young, I might add. I'm impressed."
My jaw dropped even lower. "B-b-b-b-but I've never killed anything larger than a squirrel, and even that was an accident!"
Satan pauses before looking at the book a bit closer, and letting out a chuckle that sounded like nails on a blackboard. "I think I know what happened. It's like in... shit, what's the name?" He flipped through the tome and picked up a black phone sitting by the desk. "Operator? Circle six, tier three, prisoner GAC-19891004. Hey Graham, what was the name of your show again? Thanks." He set down the phone and redirected his gaze back toward me. "It's like in that show, Monty Python."
I was confused more than anything else. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"You know their movie with the musical number *Every Sperm is Sacred*?"
I paused. What would that have to do with me?
"Well turns out they got the doctrine right, purely by accident. And guess what you've been doing five days a week since eigth grade?"
Then that would mean- *no*.
"Oh, *God*."
"Yeah, he's not gonna help you with this one." | "186,292 years!?!"
"Yup." St. Peter looked bored, maybe even a little annoyed. I suppose I wasn't his first today to be taken back by their sentence -- by this _rejection_ -- and I suspect I won't be the last.
But then my gaze moved over St. Peter's left shoulder to... Majesty? Brilliance? This glowing man... being... just perfection. Indescribable perfection.
Love.
He was wearing headphones and it looked like he was getting down to some sick beats.
"Is... is that...?" I asked.
"Of course. Who else would it be?"
"What is He listening to?"
"Probably Nickelback. It's pretty much all He ever plays."
I paused, surprised. Nickelback? How could he...
"Oh. Okay. I get it now. So... See you in 186,292 years?" I ask.
"See you in 186,292 years." | 2018-09-26T08:43:26 | 2018-09-26T08:25:34 | 77 | 14 |
[WP] Since you can restart your life whenever you die, you start treating your lives as playthroughs in a video game. You’ve already completed the “main quest” timeline and tried a “new profession” timeline. You decide your next timeline will be a “speed run”. | I was going to speed run my life. Why not at this point? I was stuck in a time loop so I figured I might as well make things a bit more interesting.
I knew what had to be done. I needed to clip through reality to speed up my life.
I heard faint noises around me as I once again came into existence. My little body was working against me, but somehow I managed to roll off the table and sprint towards a wall while the doctors and my mother screamed at me. I began backwards jumping as fast as possible into a corner and ended up pushing through right before a doctor could grab me.
I was now 18 and deciding on college. I applied to the first one on the list and rolled around on the ground to clip through. I fell through the floor and ended up in the marriage ceremony cutscene. I hit the pause button to skip the happiest day of my life with Stephanie and did a dive into the wedding cake and champagne glasses. Everyone at the wedding gasped in shock as the textures around me glitched out.
The maneuver was proving more difficult. I couldn’t quite hit the pixel perfect jump that would take me to the death cutscene. Instead, I was transported to my 60s.
I sat in the house and looked at photos of Matthew and Racheal, my two kids that had already moved out. Stephanie was working on some puzzle in the living room. Memories flooded back of the absolute boredom that comes with midlife.
The run wasn’t perfect, but I knew I could glitch out to get to the 80s section where I could probably have a heart attack if I pushed myself too hard. Before I could run out, Stephanie grabbed my hand.
“You know, it always seems like you’re running around. Why don’t you help me out with this puzzle?” she asked.
Before me lay two choices. I could either sprint out the door, or I could enjoy some quality time with Stephanie. I had already married her 3 times now, but even knowing it was a timeloop didn’t make it any less fun. My heartbeat slowed down as I sat at the table and slowly put the puzzle together piece by piece. | Speed running. A popular thing that people normally perform in online games is typically single-player… But, This speed run is different its a speed run in real life. I take a deep breath and then… I Stab myself and begin to count in my head…
1 Second
29 Seconds
44 Seconds
9313 Seconds
23652025 Seconds
…
…
…
…
I was born.
I slide out of the….I won't say and Using the blood I was covered in I slam my head onto the scientist's hand. So far so perfect
And immediately after I begin to open my eyes and stare… and then I began to mouth English, If I was lucky the doctor would understand. And since this time I was lucky… The Doctor immediately recognized my words, my accursed words of saying “I want to play league of legends” and immediately had a heart attack killing himself and me.
All of this happened in apprioximently 23652029.6 seconds which means I beat my record!
Oh, what did I speed run? I sped run murder. | 2022-06-06T06:47:19 | 2022-06-06T01:34:29 | 236 | 82 |
[WP] Nobody had reached the bottom of the ocean until you did. You thought you would be met by terrifying sea creatures and unending darkness - but it was so much worse. | Alone. I was alone. Down in the dark. The deep deep dark. Nobody believed I could do it, so nobody came with me. No life. No death even. Just emptiness. “Like a void” I think to myself. I stare ahead at the darkness. How long have I been going for? Three, two, four days? I don’t know. Time moves different down here in the dark. All of a sudden, I see light. My eyes widen. I stop the submarine, surprised. A smile forms on my face and push the lever and the submarine starts gliding forward. The light becomes bigger, and brighter. Then I make it, and I’m right back on the surface. The smile fades. I look around, then slam my fists against the front of the submarine.
“Dammit!” I scream aloud. It must’ve been a loop. Like the bottomless pit from an episode of “Gravity Falls”.
“Fuck.” I turn it around and head towards a small town in Japan that I had left from. What am I going to tell everyone when they ask? They aren’t going to believe that it’s a loop. They will just believe I failed. I make it to the town and dock the submarine in the harbor. I get out and notice something strange. It was very quiet. I look around and see no people. “Must be bad weather.” I walk into the town, and still see no one. Interesting. I make my way toward my apartment. Still no one. I open my door and sit on the bed.
“What are you?” I hear.
I turn around, and see nothing. “Hello?”
I feel a hand wrap my arm and squeeze, “What the fuck are you?!”
It grabs me and pulls me out of my apartment. I here screams and words and voices from all around me, but can see nothing. I push away from it and start running back to my submarine. “It had to be what’s at the bottom.” I think as I ran. I run into people, but can’t see them. I hear screaming and yelling and crying as I run. I hear, “Get that freak!”
I make it to the submarine and enter it. I turn it on. Nothing. No noise. No lights. Nothing. It doesn’t turn on. I try again. Nothing. I look around then exit the submarine. I glance at a boat. “I just need to get away from here.” I think. I run to the boat and enter it. I drop the sail. Nothing. I can feel wind. But the sail doesn’t move.
I step onto the dock and hear voices becoming louder and louder. I start panicking and find a motorized boat. The key is still in it. I grab the key and crank it. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I try more boats. The voices are right behind me now. I freeze. I feel hands wrap around my waist and pull at my face and fingers and feet. My eyes start bleeding as they pull my ears from my head. I scream. |
As the submarine plummeted downward in a decent for the furthest reaches of the depths of the ocean, nothing had prepared me for this encounter. As everything was going pitch black around me, suddenly, lights began to glow in the distant. My interest was certainly peaked. The light was still about 20 miles away on radar, but somehow, the luminescence was bright enough at this depth to be seen at this distance. Yeah, I was definitely not pulling back from this.
With the throttle pressed full speed ahead, the light began glowing even brighter. My heart began racing as fast as the Triton Sub was going. Had I actually discovered Atlantis? My questions needed answers, and as quick as possible. There could be no hesitation.
As the lights began illuminating the entire sub, I was completely dumbstruck. Really? Out of everything in the world I could’ve found at the deepest possible depth of the entire ocean, I find it has already been discovered. None other than Kanye West himself had made WestWorld. I guess when you reach the lowest points of your life, you turn lemons into and entire city dedicated to yourself. What else could be expected to from the man who loves himself more than anyone else could ever love him. To hell with it, we’ll check it out and see what’s going on here.
As I begin to dock to the closest air seal, I can’t help but to laugh uncontrollably, “No Kardashians or Jenners welcomed.” Well thank God I’m Captain Bryce Habot and not Kim. As I begin to step out of the submarine, over the intercoms, all I can hear is 808 and Heartbreak playing. Then it seized to play abruptly. “New comer, if you could knock one playa out in Earth, who would it be?” I sit and think for a second. Think like Kanye, think like Kanye “Um…Ray J?” “You may enter my domain, congratulations.” I step out of the air seal and into WestWorld and, to be continued… Let’s see some upvotes for the wrap up. | 2021-07-26T21:01:29 | 2021-07-26T20:09:22 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] The nightmare has come true; you've woken up back in sixth grade with your memories and knowledge of everything that happened since then intact. You start staring at your classmates around you, aware of how they end up. Your teacher asks you what's wrong as you start weeping. | My ears finally clear and I can finally focus on the fact that I’m in the bathroom of my elementary school. How long have I been standing here at the sink, I see they still haven’t replaced the mirror that got ripped off the wall as part of the 6th graders prank 16 years ago? Jesus, It really wasn’t a good idea to drink during my high school reunion, much less our “Walk Down Memory Lane” tour. I should probably ease up on the day drinking. I knew it was a bad idea to come back here but my therapist convinced me I could confront some demons and move on.
“Alright here goes nothing,” I think as I emerge from the bathroom. I’m confronted with my 6th grade teacher but for some reason I’m looking up at her instead of eye to eye. “Back in line,” she says. Really giving us the full experience I suppose.
I get in line and notice I’m in line with children. Real 6th graders. How bizarre. Where is Kelly? She promised she would help me get thru this Reunion nonsense.
We make our way down the hall and back in the same classroom I had 6th grade geography in. The second I step into the room I know something is wrong. All the ‘children’ have sat down and I know them. I know all of them. They’re my classmates and they’re all 12 years old. Kelly is sitting at her desk, but Kelly looks 12 years old. My ears start ringing. Mrs Fritch tells me to take a seat. “How drunk am I? I cannot let them know I’m drunk,” I think as I take my seat in the back. The same seat I had when I was in 6th grade. She starts in on the geography lesson. I already know all this information. I start looking around and inspecting everyone’s face, realizing that I do not even feel a little drunk.
My brain starts running a mile a minute. Did I drop acid and forget again? Was I rufied? Nothing is making sense. As I look around the room and realize that these children are in fact actual 6th graders it occurs to me that I don’t even know what I look like. I slowly unzip my backpack and pull out my purse. Holy shit, this is literally the purse I got for Back to School all those years ago. I pull out my little compact mirror and slowly open it. I am staring at 6th me. I’m in danger of passing out. Tears sting my eyes but I’m not really sure why.
Then it dawns on me. If I’m here, in 6th grade again, and all my classmates are here as 6th graders, it means she’s out there somewhere. Probably at home I assume. I immediately raise me hand and announce that I need to go to the nurse because I am about to vomit. Mrs Fritch gives me a weird look, probably got using the word vomit. She writes me a pass and sends me to the nurse.
I’m practically running. I tell the nurse I need to “puke” and scoot right into her bathroom and shut the door. After giving an Oscar worthy performance of vomiting, she tells me my mom is on my way as I emerge from the bathroom.
“This is it,” I think. We don’t live far. And if this insane hallucination is correct, it is not actually 2019, where my mom has been dead for 5 years. It’s 1995 and she is alive and well and on her way to pick me up. | “Tim? Tim are you, uh...”
Miss Lewis was concerned, but more than that she young. And pretty. Ms. Lewis is fresh out of grad school, the apple of every boy’s eye; Tim remembers her obituary. Next year, Ms. Lewis becomes Mrs. Akima. Nine years later, Mr. Akima catches Mrs with another man and Mr. Akima, a police officer, will pull his service weapon and shoot her in the head, followed by her lover and finally himself.
And there was more. Every memory that seemed buried or burned away by years of bong rips and dropping X came flooding back. Weekends at grandmas, bullies cornering Tim in the hallway, first kiss, first blowjob (first premature ejaculation). In the midst of it, Tim had a distant, amusing thought: “You remember that Stephen King movie where the kids forgot about the evil clown that haunted them?” On the heels of that, Tim suddenly remembered the real life clown that was stopping by today.
Tim shot to his feet and ran to the windows, or he tried to; there were about 30 desks filled with kids in the way, and Ms. Lewis too. She blocked his way and he almost collided with her, but still tried to run past in a last ditch effort for the windows. Over Ms. Lewis’ shoulder, a tuft of red puffy hair bounced into view.
Some kid yells out innocently, “Hey, a clown?”
Tim’s eyes widen in horror. “Oh fuck, that’s not a clown! Look away!”
But it was too late, a 12 year old girl’s scream pierced the air and drowned out Tim’s futile warning. A second later everyone else saw and joined in chorus, crying and yelling and a few shitty kids laughing.
The “clown” was just a homeless guy. Tall, lanky, bad crackhead skin, with actual patches of ginger hair poking under the dime store wig. His balls were ginger too, lobster red from him scratching them all day. His pubes were gray. But his dick, long and pulsing, dancing in a helicopter swirl as the clown spun his member around for all the kids to gander. No one could hear him, but it looked like he was singing.
Ms. Lewis ran with Tim to the windows to shut the blinds but now the kids were crowding the aisles and the journey was impossible. Ms. Lewis dashed out the room for the campus safety officer.
Just then, the clown bent over and spread his asshole. Someone ran out and told Ms. Lewis they’d need the janitor too. | 2019-08-18T07:59:06 | 2019-08-18T07:55:59 | 70 | 16 |
[WP] A master thief sends a letter to the castle. "I am coming to take your most valued treasure. Stop me if you can." On the promised date the castle guards it's most valuable pieces in a vault and the thief never shows. A short time later it is discovered that what was stolen was not in the vault. | "At last! I have the king at my feet. He will do anything to retrieve what I've taken" the thief crowed and watched the town scramble.
"Boring" a voice behind him said in a calm, even tone. "I mean what are you even going to ask for?"
"Anything I want. And the king will give it to me, all so I return his precious daughter." The thief growled as the freshly kidnapped princess made a wide yawning expression. "Will you stop that? You're my prisoner"
"Blah blah blah. Whatever you say" the princess pulled a small cushion from a dust old couch and placed it on an end table. She gathered her dress and sat daintily on it. "It's not going to work anyway."
"What?"
"Your master plan. It's going to fail." The princess grinned and examined a nearby case of books. "It already has. I'm just waiting to be rescued.''
"Rescued?" The thief laughed. "This fortress is on an island, surrounded by shark infested waters and I control the only drawbridge. The only way in or out is on my say-so"
The princess laughed again. "On top of that, I've seen the inside. I can tell the guards everything here and all the traps and tricks. I'm kind of the scout. And I'll lead entire armies back to destroy this place."
"For the last time, you're not getting Rescued!" The thief shouted. "The army can't get through."
The army can't, but Earl can." The princess opened the book she had been looking at and began to read.
"Earl? Who is Earl?" The thief looked out the window to see a large, terrifying creature flying directly toward the hideout.
"My dragon. He always knows where I am, and he always picks me back up." The princess looked at the thief in amusement. "You didn't really think you were the first to try kidnapping me, did you?" | I loved her, quickly did I learn the king did not. A letter I wrote, a test really, protect what is most valued to you and it will not be lost.
The king a tall man battle hardened, with black hair that flowed to his eye brows knew what he had to do. "All men to the vaults, protect the royal treasury at all cost." The Kings guard and the army swarmed the castle protecting and watching over every entrance plausible to the vault. It was then I realized the king had failed my test.
It was that night I married her on a hill over looking a vast valley. The sky was painted a beautiful pink fading into a warm purple that announced the coming of night. The warmth of the setting summer sun touched our skin as I kissed her showing the world and the heavens we were now one.
We ran off, young and in love, for I was a master thief, I stole the princesses heart. | 2022-09-08T07:19:08 | 2022-09-08T03:57:51 | 30 | 10 |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I sat there pondering the stat surrounded by friends and family. It was my 74th birthday, and at that moment I was surprised I had made it that long.
"You know, I really think it's the lack of sex" teased George from my left side. I gave him a sideways look. and my wife looked like she was trying not to strangle him. He never knows when to have a filter, especially in front of my grandkids.
The party was great and all, but now I was lost in thought. All those times I could have died. What experiences would I have missed at that point? My almost 35 years of marriage? Seeing the birth of my first granddaughter? It almost had me choked up.
"Aw, don't worry about it Frank" chimed in Paul. "You've lived a hell of a life, and I don't want you worrying about the past now!" I smiled at him, he always knew how to cheer me up.
"I'll tell you what," he said. "Let's get the guys together and go out for some drinks. I know we only go every couple of months, but to hell with that! Tonight's a special occasion!" I grinned at the thought. If I had almost died 278 times, I might as well live like I'm young (or at least like I *think* I'm young).
------
I got home around 3am, after some very questionable driving from Joe. Our age plus a few bottles makes for quite a trip home. I sauntered in the front door to see my wife waiting angrily in the kitchen. Now I know how Joe felt earlier.
"Well gee hon'," I snorted, "You look like you want to kill me!" | 278.
It felt like I had been stabbed in the chest I was so shocked.
Wait a minute.
No that's real. That's real! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THATS REAL.
My clammy hands grasp my chest as I recognize the substance on my shirt (and everything else) is blood. There's a fucking knife in me. What the fuck.
Everything feels like it's moving slowly. My eyes drift up. There she is. Mom. She fist bumps dad.
"GOT HIM!"
"Finally!"
Fuck. It's so dark...it's so... | 2018-07-27T14:21:38 | 2018-07-27T13:41:29 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You were born in a city where everyone has a superpower. However, while people freely use theirs (breathe fire, heal wounds or grow flowers), you seem to not be able to do anything. But one day, as you leave the city, you realize that everyone loses their power.
[deleted] | I used to hate the city.
It seems out of a comic book. You walk to your job and, as you gaze towards the sky, you see a hundred flying beings, making stunts that seemed impossible to man, hiding in the clouds, saluting planes. You get a coffee and you don't even care if it's cold or warm, one of the workers can heat it in milliseconds or cool it with a touch. You take a cab to go somewhere and someone else has flown by at the blink of an eye. It seems as if life's been solved for everybody nowadays.
Well, not for me.
"It's okay, honey, you don't need to be super for me to know you're super." I smiled silently at my girlfriend's cute remarks. She's stayed by my side for such a long time. It's weird to think that she, a telekinetic human, is still with me, a plain, power-less person. That's true love. But I was still disappointed on all the great things that could happen if I had powers too. I felt insecure, weak, an outcast in such a fantastic world. The freaks stopped being freaks when everybody became one. And so, I remained as the lone weirdo.
All of this stressed me out. "You should go out for the weekend", told me a co-worker. "So much stress about your condition, I think you should disconnect for a while." Why not? I didn't have to torture myself everyday with the same thought. My job paid well, so I had enough money to plan a short, easy weekend. A couple days in the countryside with not much connection.
My girlfriend packed my things and hers in seconds, even though she didn't have to. We got in my car and drove listening to our favorite songs. It was as if superpowers didn't exist anymore. We were just people being people and singing super loudly.
The countryside was beautiful. I learned that some places don't have superpowered people, such as the village we stayed in for the weekend. I ate normal, I played normal, I did everything normal. Sightseeing, trekking, everything. I thought to myself: "Is this how life's supposed to be for me? And for everybody else". Maybe it was. But one small break made me more tolerant to powers as I was to normalcy.
We didn't really check the news, since we disconnected ourselves entirely from the city. We assured our friends we'd be fine, of course, and we were still fine as we were packing by the end of the trip. Suddenly, however, one of the villagers caught up with us, and showed us a newspaper. "Ain't this your city?", he said. I read the headline.
***POWERS GONE IN THE CITY!***
We were shocked by this. "How? Did somebody take them away? Was there some kind of supervillain that did this?" Many thoughts crossed my mind. My girlfriend seemed to still have her powers despite that, so what really happened? Did we save ourselves from some horrible event?
Despite the surprise, we drove calmly back to the city. My girlfriend was checking Twitter for updates as I focused on the road. I saw a car fly by our side, going the way we came from. I didn't think much of it but, as I noticed on my side mirror, a burst of light came from the car. In a matter of seconds, the car was turning and rushing towards us, honking its horn. We got scared and I stomped on the pedal, praying to God that nothing bad happened.
At last, a sign told me we were coming back home. Despite the obvious relief, not only did the car still follow, but we were scared by the sudden mob standing on the border, raging. Since we couldn't go any further, we stopped. Fortunately, the others slowed down too, and parked by our side, apologizing for frightening us. We remained in the car talking to them and, as they updated my girlfriend on the situation, I took a good look at the mob.
The crowd was panicking, even crying, by the fact that their gifts were abruptly gone. It broke my heart to see the people I envied for most of my life were so hurt, and what they cherished the most had been taken away. I decided to step out of the car, informing my girl that I'd check for more information. She nodded and let me go. Soon, I was heading towards the asphalt road that gave the entrance to the town. And then... it happened.
An inmense wave of light emerged from my body as I entered in contact with the road. It touched everyone in the distance, without hurting anyone, and covered them for a brief instant in my light. Bodies were glowing at the same time they were shaking by the unexpected event. Soon, a kid nearby walked close to me, extended his hand and a small ball of fire shot towards the ground. "My powers are back!", he yelled. Everybody tried the same for a couple moments.
And soon, people were crowding me, thanking me, hugging me, asking me things. "How did you do that? Why did you leave? Did you know you could do this?" I didn't know. I just stood there, trying to connect the dots as the mob stood thanking me. My girlfriend shared my confusion. Until I realized...
I was the source that kept powers alive. I was the chord unplugged from the city. For a whole weekend, my absence caused chaos. And I never knew, and never expected any of this, this responsibility and importance. Until now. | Everyone can use their powers as they please and I’m just normal. The doctors claim it’s cause neither of my parents were around when the dynampho occurred but my mother can phase through walls. The Dyampho was a chemical explosion in the city that only worsened when a meteorite hit the center of the city at the same time. The meteorite is still in the center of the city and it gave people powers. Some can turn into different animals, some can do things with there minds, some can control and become the elements and a bunch of other things. Then there’s me who’s just normal and it’s been 16 years and a power hasn’t manifested yet. But today’s my birthday and I’m going to do what’s been deemed illegal for years, leave the city.
According to our mayor Jadon much of the world didn’t survive the meteors that rained on earth and were ravaged to the point of no return. I don’t really believe that to be true and I’m going to figure out for myself. To do so I’ll need help preferably from those with powers so I got my best friends Carly and Damon to help with this. Carlys a bit of a oddball seeing as she has the ability to mess with memories. It’s almost like she’s rewriting your headspace and it’s really creepy but she’s not evil or anything so it’s all good. Damon on the other hand is nice mild mannered and quiet but his powers are anything but that. He can manipulate water to the point he can do some very very scary things but the scarier things tire him out. We developed a plan to go through the sewer system and hope we land somewhere safe. We grab our bags and jump in and our plan is a go.
It’s dark and uncomfortable down here but Damon separates the sludge from the water so at least we’ll get wet and not dirty. As we keep walking Carly starts to sing themesongs from her favorite tv shows to pass the time as best she could. By the time she’s gotten through 8 of them we’ve reached the meteorite zone and the water becomes crystal clear. Damon looks rejuvenated and not pale as can be like he did earlier. He wants to stay here and soak up the energy but we have a mission to do. We keep waking for another few hours and we get close to the restricted gate. 10 years ago a bunch of people broke through the city limits and never returned so they put a gate on all exits. And it’s always guarded by at least 2 guards with powers. And they even have them down here as the guards stand duty.
We duck behind a corner as they shine a Iight hoping to find us. I jump out and hurl insults at them, yelling they got sewer duty after 20 years of training. This lets Damon start to get the water away from the gate but we need the key cards on the officers holsters to get out. While I’m pinned on the ground Carly works her magic and they forget why they’re there and drop everything. She rewrites them as a bunch of guys taking a jog and we pick up the key cards and we’ve done it. The water ends and we see a bunch of steps leading to the outside world. We climb the steps and here we are.
The outside world looks absolutely nothing like how it’s taught in the history books. It’s sunny and there’s roads and while there is obvious damage from some sort of natural disaster it can’t be a meteor shower at all. We continue to walk looking for the next town as we run into some animals from the forest. We don’t really have many animals in the city so we take our chance to have fun with them. Damon complains about needing water so we go by the lake and he pulls some into our bottles or at least he tries to. He tries with his hands, his feet and even his tongue and it won’t budge. We assume the water isn’t safe to drink but Damon still drinks it.
As we walk and walk we spot a city that we can rest in and hopefully get some answers. Two ladies walk towards us asking for our names and I look at Carly and she does her memory rewriting but it doesn’t work. She makes them act like penguins and it didn’t work, she tells them they’re from outer space and it didn’t work. Neither one of there powers worked out here. But when Damon was under the meteorite he was at his strongest. We look at each other and realize the exact same thing. The powers don’t just come from the meteorite the powers don’t work without it | 2020-06-09T05:33:12 | 2020-06-09T05:13:23 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] You've curled into bed after an exhausting, chilly day with your typical assortment of pets. Large dogs, cats. You hear a close by growl and snuffle you aren't familiar with, but decide to just shift over, pat the bed and sleepily say "come on, then". | After the day I had, my bed was like the freaking promised land. I embraced the warmth of the blankets with glee and settled in for the journey to Sleepytown. As I did, my pets filed into the bedroom to join me on my quest. My pitbulls Salt and Pepper claimed their usual spot on the left side of the bed, Baby Beluga the boxer-mix nuzzled into my thigh, and my cats Izzy, Rutabaga, Goomba, and General Nibblesworth filled the space between the dogs and me.
Suddenly, I heard the sound of another critter from the area between my side of the bed and the window. I was too tired to give it a second thought, so I gave the bed a few gentle pats and said, "Come on, then." With a quick hop, the mystery critter clambered onto the bed and more importantly, on top of me. I opened my eyes and just about had a heart attack at what I saw.
Sitting on top of me was an enormous red squirrel, bigger than any of my dogs. It had shiny black eyes, hands that simply couldn't stop moving, and a fluffy tail so big it hung over the end of the bed. I bit back a scream as I said, "Jesus Christ, Dottie. I told you not to do that."
Dottie giggled and began to change. Her fur retracted, her eyes turned into those of a human, and she began to shrink slightly. Before long, she was a red-haired woman with an exceptional number of freckles (while still keeping the tail). "Sorry, Claire. How was your day?"
"Like trying to jack off a frost giant: long, exhausting, and cold as fuck. Which is why I'm grateful tomorrow is my day off. How about you?"
Dottie sighed. "Ah, same as usual. Another day, another round of meetings with Odin to prove I'm not gonna run insults between Nidhogg and Vertfolnir to hasten Ragnarok anymore. Just wish he'd trust me already."
"Babe, I will gladly commiserate with you about your boss in the morning, but I really just want to sleep right now."
"Okay. Princess wanna tail tuck?"
"Princess would love a tail tuck."
Dottie smiled and carefully worked her way under the covers. Once she was under, she wrapped her tail around the both of us like a straitjacket of softness. With the softest little kiss imaginable, Dottie whispered, "Good night, Claire. I love you," as I drifted off to sleep. | Was the most soft day of the month so far, and even then I was terribly sleepy and exhausted.
Meg, Rog, Gin, Genny and Buzz were on my bed waiting for me.
They're my friends. My only friends.
I took the little kitty Genny and put her on the left pillow, the yellow one.
Then I put under the blanket my cold feet, and i dove into the bed.
I took my book Insomnia, by S. King and I read like 50 pages.
After then, i re-put the text on the bedtable and I hugged my blue pillow.
One growl I heard. I thought it was Rog who was making that noise, but he was instead belly up, snoozing.
What a sleepy dog.
Anyway, that growl amplified and I took my tired arms off the blanket and the body and the legs with them.
As I put my foot on the ground, I could understand that is wasn't the ground.
A big, fluffy thing raised. That monstruosity was the reason of my concern.
It turned his head toward me, only to reveal that it was a boar. A boar? How the hell it sneaked in my room?
Yet, I was sleepy.
I took it from below, opened the window and thrown on the other side.
Then it fleed.
I went to the bathroom, followed by everyone. I washed my hands and checked the time: 02:34.
I went in my room again and fell on the bed. Two minutes and I was asleep.
Curse you, boar. | 2022-11-01T08:29:41 | 2022-11-01T07:27:15 | 42 | 21 |
[WP] You are a wolf who was bitten by a werewolf. Every full moon your hair recedes, your teeth dull, and you are left cold and naked on a hillside. You’ve also met a lovely park ranger named Christine. | The fight was barely a skirmish, the pack I stood up against numbering over a dozen and determined to steal the body of my prey from me, but one of them bit me on the leg. I had no help, no backup, having left my mother’s side and not yet formed a pack of my own. I yelped off into the forest, taking care to not lean on the wound, something in the back of my mind worrying of it worsening. I licked it clean and kept it from festering, though, and thought that was the end of things.
The night I first changed was painful beyond any bite, beyond anything I’d ever experienced. The sensation of being left naked and cold instead of naked and warm in the forest around me was disorienting, but more so was the voice in my head. It had started a few weeks back, guiding me as if it were another wolf in a dream, in a language I had never learned but somehow knew. It was there now, comforting me, assuring me that thing would settle into routine and I was safe.
But the brush on the floor of the forest was rough against my skin, even with my feet calloused and tough, my muscles sinewy and sleek. I wandered the forest that night in the far back reaches of my consciousness, the human having his turn at the wheel. He told me of this new body I inhabited, how it would occur once a month, how it needed to do so. My body was no longer just my own; I had a companion in life, and it was one that I’d never expected.
The night I changed back, my human was relegated to the back of my mind, but it gave voice to things I didn’t understand and feelings I hadn’t had before. And it hinted toward human encampments as a survival strategy in times of scarce prey but cautioned against meeting any humans themselves. They were weak in flesh but strong in weaponry, and if any of them saw me, I was to turn tail and run, which aligned with my instincts even before. The fire they wielded, that appeared and flourished at their whim, was hint enough.
That second night a month later, however, I turned near a human’s encampment, though this one was unlike the small, temporary tents they erected to protect themselves against the elements. This one was incredibly tall, made of wood and sturdy and strong. I crouched curiously in the faint shadow created by the moon and then flinched back as a light came on and a woman walked toward the staircase.
“Hello,” I spoke. My human was at the wheel here, my wolf guiding me just as background instincts and faint as a subconscious voice.
The woman startled and her stance became aggressive, her hand moving to her belt, where I knew humans stored their weapons. “What the hell?”
“I’ve not met any others,” I told her. “Are you human? Or wolf? Or a mixture of the two? I can’t smell you from here.”
Her stance changed to something more akin to confusion. “I’m human,” she said slowly, taking a few steps in the blinding light from a floodlight overhead. “What are you?”
My voice caught in my throat. “I’m not sure anymore,” I admitted. “I was wolf, but I now live as a human one day a month.”
The woman’s eyes widened in an expression I recognized as shock and wonder. “How many times has it happened so afr?”
“Just twice.”
“Would you like to…sit with me?”
I looked down at my body. “I’m unclothed,” I said, somewhat apologetically. “Should I be clothed, as you are, if I’m to be fully human this time?”
“I have some sweatpants and a sweatshirt in my car that might fit you.”
And so, clothed for the first time, and not averse to the sensation since it gave me the warmth my fur no longer did, I climbed to the top of the tower with her, gazing in wonder at the forest around me that I could now see from a new vantage point.
We reached the top and looked out over the territory. “This is beautiful, up here,” I said softly.
“I’m quite fond of it myself,” she replied. “Do you have a name?”
I paused, my eyes narrowing. “I don’t think so.”
“I’m Christine. Would you like a name?”
Pursing my lips, I considered the question. “You can call me Wolf.”
She nodded once. “Wolf it is.”
We stood there for hours, me sharing my world with her and hers with mine. She had much more to speak on the world outside the forest that I wasn’t aware of, since her kind studied wolves and had for many centuries. The place outside the forest was incredible, full of things I felt were magic, full of potential and great happiness but also great sadness. My life as a wolf was much simpler, if more dangerous in some respects.
As the sun peeked over the horizon, I felt the fur growing over my skin and the bones crackled and reformed under my skin. I was left tangled in the clothes I’d worn comfortably just moments before, and I let Christine extract me from them. Then I gave her a lingering look before taking the stairs slowly, a foreign, difficult sensation that was strangely different than descending a hill, eventually reaching the dirt ground and running off into the forest.
Another month passed and I felt myself drawn back to the only other human I knew, back to the comfortable clothes she’d given me, back to her company. But Christine sat on the bottom step of the staircase when I arrived, looking hopeful but concerned. She turned when she heard my footsteps.
“Hello,” I said with a small smile.
“Wolf,” she sighed. She walked over to me, seemingly unconcerned with my nakedness. “I’m sorry, but…this is the last time you and I can meet.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“I was…excited, overjoyed at the discovery of your existence, but it’s rare. So rare that my bosses want to meet you. To study you. To…” She grimaced. “They want to take you from the forest,” she explained simply.
I hurriedly took a few steps back. “Are they here?”
“No, I lied to them,” she explained. “I gave them the wrong date. They’ll be here tomorrow. So, Wolf…you need to be careful. Humans have the wonderous life I talked to you about when we first met, but we have a dark side as well,” she whispered. “It’s the instinct that keeps you away from the fires we build, away from the hunters that carry guns. It will be lonely, I’m sure, but…maybe you’ll find another like you. One who understands you because they bear the same burden.”
I nodded slowly. “Thank you for…for protecting me,” I told her. “I won’t come back again. But…can we talk? As we did last time? I enjoyed it, learning about your world, and would like to learn more. Just…one last time.”
Christine smiled and nodded. “I’d like that very much.”
&#x200B;
/r/storiesbykaren | “Chrissy you’ve got to help me, I can’t go back to that!”
Chrissy reclined in bed, her eyes heavy lidded and her whole body ready for sleep, if only Spot weren’t having another crisis. She pressed the pillow down over her face and tried to count disemboweled sheep, the kind Spot left behind when he was a wolf. Sometimes she thought she liked that version of him better, his howling was less annoying then.
“Seriously Chrissy, you don’t understand what it’s like to be a wolf! I learn all this stuff as a man and then I’m hurled back into a pack that doesn't understand me. I’ve got to run and kill and hunt, I don’t even have hands, we just use our mouths for everything!”
“And I bet the females don’t look at you either, huh?”
She could imagine his expression, the human version of the guilty grimace he’d had when she caught them on the game cams. “That was one time and she was in heat!” he said, his voice getting shrill. “You can’t possibly blame me for that, I was a wolf!”
“Oh, so when that happens it’s all *‘oh but I was a wolf’* and then when you have to live outdoors and I’m not cooking for you it’s all *‘save me, I can’t go back to that!”*
Chrissy rolled over, pulling the covers tighter to herself. She could hear Spot stalking back towards the bed and she prepared herself for the pounce.
He leapt onto the bed with all the supple strength of a wild animal, pulling her to his chest. When Spot spoke his voice was husky and carried the strangest hint of an affected accent. Chrissy regretted showing him a romance movie that one time. “But baby, wouldn’t you love it if we could be together? We could frolic around this beautiful park every day, making love and catching prey as we willed, without any fear of bears or rain!”
Chrissy threw the pillow into the corner, rolling back towards him. A broad smile creased Spot’s sharp features and his eyes positively smoldered at her. He thought he was so damn cute sometimes. “Well, *baby*,” she said, pressing her hands against his muscled chest, “I happen to like our schedule just the way it is. Besides, you’re barely housebroken on the one day a month I have you. Now stop whining, you’re ruining my afterglow.”
She pecked him on the lips quickly and turned back around. “And remember to be out of here before sunrise, I can’t have you transforming in my bed again. That was fucked up.”
Spot’s grip around her waist grew slack. He nuzzled against her neck gently, it was normally as a close to an apology as she got, and then she felt him stand.
“Bye Chrissy,” he said. His voice sounded truly sad. She only turned back to watch him leave, walking out into the rising dawn naked as the day he was born, or perhaps in his case made. She saw his transformation through her bedroom window, heard his scream become a howl, watched bones rearrange themselves and coarse hair tear through soft skin to cover his body.
Chrissy closed her eyes and went to sleep, finally getting to relax and enjoy her body’s languid exhaustion.
She was woken when the cabin door opened an hour later. Someone poked around in the outer rooms for a few minutes, giving Chrissy time to reorient herself before the door opened again. Eliza stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the early morning light from the windows. Her clothes were messily donned, half the buttons of her shirt missing. Her hair was a disaster, what little makeup she’d worn the night before was smeared tragically around her face.
“Hey babe,” Chrissy said, “you’re looking cute.”
“Yeah, yeah, it was a rough one. I’m gonna jump in the tub, but I'm glad you're up, I wanted to say hi.” Eliza walked over to the bed, sitting down where Spot had so recently been, and gave Chrissy a long, hard kiss.
“You taste funny,” Chrissy said, making a face. “Not a deer this time?”
“I wish. I found a half dead elk. It was pretty gross.”
“Ewww, yeah wash your mouth out before you kiss me again.”
Eliza stood, going to their attached bathroom. Chrissy heard a bath begin to run and then Eliza began gargling mouthwash. “How was your night?” she called after she spit.
“Fun!” Chrissy said. “Spot is an animal, pun intended. But if we ever try this again remind me to have you bite a less whiny wolf. My god is he annoying before he changes!”
“Oh really? He doesn’t want to go back?”
“Nah, he wants to stay human. He’s been asking me to help him, although I’ve got no idea how that would even work.”
“Yeah for real.” Eliza poked her head back into the bedroom. “You can cure a werewolf by killing the one that bit them, but a were-werewolf? I don’t even know how that would work.”
“Uh huh. And besides, there’s only room for one human in my life. Come back here.” Chrissy propped herself up in bed and reached out for another kiss now that Eliza’s mouth was cleaner.
“I kinda feel sad for the guy though,” Eliza said, walking back into the bathroom. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to be a wolf either.” Chrissy heard a contented sigh from the bathroom, Eliza must have stepped into the tub.
“Well, as far as I’m concerned we’re doing him a favor.” Chrissy said. She stretched, groaning loudly as she gave up on sleep. “Whatever. Is there room for two in there?”
“You bet!”
Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled.
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-03-14T14:55:52 | 2021-03-14T13:49:33 | 243 | 129 |
[wp] Each year the USA government closes out a year from the past. When they do, all crimes committed that year are wiped clean. Criminals may now confess their crimes without punishment. You've been making the headlines for decades. | The news vans were already parked outside. I hadn't declared any intent to make an announcment, but after years of my revelations they all just showed up anyway. From my window, I could see the big satellite dishes on top of them. My son, Ben, wheeled my chair a bit closer so that I could see the various reporters standing near my door, giving their pre-report of the situation. Ben's pretty new wife Sarah was flipping through stations and watching re-aired segments of various things that I'd confessed to the past. The channel it was currently on had a re-enactment of how my friends and I had stolen the Tyrannosaurus skeleton from the Museum of Natural History in New York and then re-assembled it in Central Park without being seen. They were getting it all wrong, of course.
I was pretty unknown before Confession Day became a thing. My friends and I had never done these little stunts for fame; it was just for fun. A little test of our skills, so to speak. We just loved seeing the baffled expressions on everyone's faces, and we'd laugh about it over beers that night and then go on to planning our next big attraction. But now, years later, here I was with the press surrounding my little retirement cottage; the rest of the boys had all since passed on. I enjoyed getting to relive those good memories from my past, and Ben was now seeing me in a whole new light. Growing up, he probably thought I was just a boring old fuddy-duddy. When I first started announcing my participation in some of these wild crimes, it had really brought us closer together. He was quite surprised to learn the truth behind those bedtime stories I used to tell when he was a boy.
Sarah flipped the channel. "Well, Paul," a news anchor on the TV said to some cohost back in the studio, "Most speculation seems to be focused on a bank heist in June of 1974, in which robbers made off with over $10 million dollars, and then promptly redistributed that money at a homeless shelter nearby." As usual, they were trying to guess what I'd admit to this year. In the ten years that I'd been confessing to various things, the press had only guessed the main feat *once*. Hell, my notes on the back of that Carvaggio painting hadn't even been discovered until I confessed to it!
Ben turned toward me with eager eyes. "Well, Dad?" He always wanted to know the story ahead of everyone else. "Was that you?"
I laughed, which turned into a bit of a hacking cough. Damn cigarettes, still killing me more than a decade after I'd given them up. "You know the rules, Benny." He made a face at the nickname, but didn't say anything. "You've got to wait for the announcement just like everyone else." I hoped he wouldn't be disappointed.
He smirked. "I knew it wouldn't be something so mundane as a bank robbery." He thought that he had me all figured out.
The news channel suddenly cut away from their segment on that time that I'd taken the presidential limousine for a joyride. It went to the live government press conference, with a stuffy, middle-aged man in a dull suit officially announcing that all crimes from 1974 were now officially forgiven. "You ready, Dad?" Ben asked, grabbing the handles of my wheelchair. I nodded.
Camera lights flashed, and a thousand lenses peered at my face. All of the reporters were jostling each other for a better position near my porch, trying to get their microphone as close to my face as possible. I tried to stand from my chair, but my legs were wobbling too much. Ben stepped in at the last second and placed a hand around my waist to help me up.
I cleared my throat. "I... uh..." I coughed again, and it felt like my lungs were full of rocks. I had to pause for e moment and take a deep breath. The reporters were getting impatient and twitchy, ready to rush away to do their segment as soon as I declared my crime. "This year, I don't have any crimes to confess to," I announced finally.
The crowd was stunned. The pretty blonde reporters all frowned, upset that I'd ruined their chance to break an always-popular story. "What made you give up?" someone called from the back. I don't even think it was a reporter; just a cameraman as curious as everyone else.
I cleared my throat and looked to the side. "This is my son, Ben." I squeezed his hand around my shoulder, as he was still helping me stand. He'd been in the background of a few of these announcements but no one had ever really asked about him. They only cared about all of my old escapades. "And I first learned that I was going to be a father in February of 1974. So, I guess my priorities just changed."
---
As always, if you enjoyed this then you should also subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell! | "Are you ready Ms Malone? He's ready to see you now." The officer in the green uniform swept the door open before me and I stepped over the threshold without an inkling of what was about to happen next.
The room was three feet wider than a standard prison cell. The walls had been repainted from their greying whitewash, and were a calming shade of magnolia. An early Picasso stood over the single bed: narrow and unadorned as a monk's cot, it was merely covered with a green woollen blanket. A cross hung over the headboard, Christ's plaintive expression etched in pale wood. A rosary was laid over the pillow and slippers were tucked under the bed.
In the middle of the room was a small table, set with two chairs and a white linen table cloth. Bone china was laid, crystal stemware. A cold bottle of Bollinger stood in a bucket of ice at the side. A cloche waited over a dish in the centre. It was a table that could have been laid in a five star establishment anywhere in the centre of Paris, but it was here, in Arizona Max. I slipped into the chair that was left free for me and heard the distinct sound of a quiet AC system as it whisked away the heat of the desert from the low-ceilinged room.
I placed my notebook beside the napkin on the table and looked for the first time at the man that occupied this space. He didn't have a name, not any more. Everyone knew who the Criminal was. I was surprised at his appearance. A starched white shirt hung over the back of his chair, and he wore only a white sleeveless tank, tight against a body that had once been firmly muscled and had run slightly to fat. The brown skin was loose under his arms, his chin. His forehead was liver-spotted and his hair wispy and grey. His eyes... His eyes, however, stared out of an old face, young and angry as the day he had first been photographed in the New York Times.
"Champagne, Miss Malone?" He asked. The Criminal's voice was low. He filled my glass without waiting for me to answer.
"It's Ms, actually," I said. He fixed me with a look that had the words dying in my mouth.
"I only grant one of these interviews a year, Miss Malone," he said calmly. "Do not make me regret choosing you. I greatly enjoyed your coverage of the election. Impartial, fair... A good amount of research. Would you care for ceviche?"
He heaped the raw fish on my plate as I scanned the list of questions I had prepared for the most prolific criminal of this century. They all died like fireflies. None would be right.
"Sir, I--" I was sweating, despite the cool of the room. This interview would make or break my career. His wolf's eyes followed me and the hairs on the back of my neck began to prickle. I thought of the officer in green, long out of hearing now.
"I will tell you the crimes of this year, Miss Malone. You will write them, with your wonderful style and impartial voice, and you will earn millions for the story," he told me, as though reading a grocery list. "I will receive a cut of your profits and perhaps I will see you again in the future. If you are lucky, perhaps not."
I picked up my pen and he shook his head, tutting.
"First, we eat," he said, lifting his glass of champagne to me. I raised mine with shaking hands. "Salute," he said.
Millions rode on this story. Millions, and my life. The question of why he lived in a prison had been brought up many years ago. Why stay, when all his crimes had been forgiven? Easy. He was in there for his own protection, not for anyone else's. | 2016-06-22T06:34:43 | 2016-06-22T06:19:48 | 316 | 30 |
[WP] Since you were born you could see a search bar over people's heads. All you had to do was think and the search bar would fill out and give you information/statistics. Out of boredom one day you decide to search your whole family with"Number of people killed" | 1 result.
There it was, a name that only I could see, floating silently above my father's head. My father the murderer; standing there with his back turned, chopping carrots at the bench.
"Dad," I said, my voice trembling. He must have heard the quiver, because he stopped and turned to me, concern etched upon his face.
"Yes Sam? Is everything ok?" He sounded genuinely worried. I mean, he was always genuine, wasn't he? But then why... I had to know.
"Do you remember how grandad died?" I blurted it out, a little too fast, and it took dad by surprise. His eyes widened, but he covered it by averting his gaze and clearing his throat.
"Lung cancer," he said quietly, "horrible way to go."
I nodded my agreement. I could sense his pain, and it made me hesitate. I wasn't sure how to approach the subject. How do you even begin? But the silence was deafening. I *had to know.*
"I remember," I said. "But, well... We all knew he was terminal, but the doctor said he still had a few months. It was just... Unexpected..."
Dad was stock-still now, standing there with that great big knife in his hand like some macabre statue. The moment drew out to infinite, frozen in time.
In an instant, the tension was broken.
My father lifted his knife, placing it gently next to the carrots. He turned back to me, and for the first time I could see the tears in his eyes.
"Do you remember the dialysis?" he said, "the needles? The tests?"
I couldn't speak, so I nodded.
"Dad couldn't bear the pain, but more than that, he couldn't bear living out the rest of his life in a hospital bed. He-"
My father choked and turned away again, staring out the window. He stared and stared, looking for something that he couldn't find.
I knew what he was looking for, I'd already found it.
"He asked you to do it, didn't he?" | My mother was always a weird one. I loved her, don’t get me wrong - but she was weird. I stared at her wide-eyed, confused, when her kills came up.
One.
How could she have killed anyone? Yes, she was kooky, but she could never lay hands on someone with malice. She just liked to talk to her lemon tree, watering it carefully, sitting under it, and reading aloud.
"Honey, come and tell Margaret goodnight!” My mother called out to me.
This was a tradition since I was a boy. I never understood talking to this lemon tree and telling it good night. But I did it, for my mother.
“Goodnight, Margaret!”
—
I was dressed in black, frozen. She told me to make sure to take care of Margaret.
I finally understood, and I stared at the death certificate for the stillborn my mother had.
Margaret.
My older sister.
edit: accidental offensive comment edited out | 2019-07-01T21:21:32 | 2019-07-01T20:14:16 | 717 | 89 |
[WP] You are a superhero who's ability subconciously freezes time whenever someone nearby is in mortal danger. Usually its obvious who's in trouble and you can save them quickly, but not this time - it's been 10 years.
Edit: guys the responses have been amazing, some funny stories and some deeper, darker ones too! Keep them coming in, I've been reading them all! | "It has to be him..." I thought to myself for the hundred-thousandth time "Old man, overweight, sweating over his fried steak burger. What the hell do *they* expect me to do about a heart attack?"
I'm not gonna lie, it's been tough. The first 2ish years were alright. At least I think it was two years. It took me ages to figure out if I wound a clock up it'd actually start ticking. It makes sense I guess, even though time is stopped I can still throw a ball and expect it to land somewhere. After giving up the search for the dying person I really started pushing the boundaries. I experimented with how far away I was allowed to travel, messed with people, really learned about the how the time freeze works. Although if I knew that not aging during the freeze meant that my hair didn't grow, I wouldn't have drunkenly shaved it all off.
I can go three miles in any direction before I hit the "time wall" as I've been calling it. I spent a few months triangulating the center of the circle, in hopes that it would land on the person in danger, but it only leads back to the same chair that I had been leaning in, in the same corner of the same diner a decade ago.
I rarely come back here these days. It still smells like french fries even though I picked the place clean of any form of potato years ago. I just don't see the need to come around anymore, I have every detail memorized at this point. IF they're trying to get me to rescue someone and not just punishing me, then it has to be the old fatty. I give up. Again. My first guess was the dishwasher that was behind my table. He was literally inches away from my head and my marks are almost always super close to me. He was (well I guess technically still is) carrying way too many sharp dangerous knives, but the man was steady and stable, the floor was dry, and even if he was about to fall all the blades were pointing carefully away from him. I've checked, and double checked, and triple checked, and hundredth checked. I'm done. I give up. *Again*.
I wanted to save the meal I was eating before the freeze for when this was all said and done. But I'm done now. Maybe if I can show *them* I've really accepted defeat they'll let me go, or at least let me die. I'd honestly welcome either. I try to sit in my chair but it's leaned far too back for me to actually sit proper. I put it down nice and steady on on four legs and take a seat.
"Careful there bud!" Said the dishwasher as he and all around me sprang back to life. "You looked like you were about to fall right into me!"
...
...
"Ooooh... God damn it" | I will never forget the night that my baby was taken. The chill of the breeze blowing down the alley between the pub and the salon, the blush in my face, the pain in my chest and the relentless desire to run away and die.
The man who killed my baby was not a bad man. He was a good man, or at least as good as a man in his situation could be. They pressured me to press charges. I denied. He was convicted of a lesser crime and admitted to rehab. I visited him there a few times. We became reacquainted.
It was clear that as much as I hurt, as much as the pain he caused me was severe, his pain was worse. He was a tormented soul. He'd spend the rest of his days trying to right his wrongs, endlessly overcompensating and giving to anyone in need. He'd dedicate the rest of his life to charity, and he did. Successfully, near as I could tell. Try as he might to act brave, to accept that it was an accident just as I did, I knew the truth about him.
Many years passed and we fell out of touch. I suspect his connection to me was a connection to a painful past he couldn't bear to face every day. He moved out after rehab. We split, although never officially. I wasn't about to burden him.
And when the time paused this time, a dozen years later, a lifetime later, it wasn't hard to find him. The light of the subway car illuminated him perfectly, standing spread eagle on the tracks. Another person may have been more horrified but I was at peace. Another person might have mistaken the look in his eyes as a side affect of the power, but I knew.
I knew the man, and he was already dead inside. | 2017-09-06T22:03:20 | 2017-09-06T18:22:30 | 401 | 57 |
[WP] When everyone turns 18, they receive a pet which is figurative of their personality. You're the first person to receive a dragon... | My friend Sonia got an owl when she turned eighteen. Someone had chosen well - not only was it quiet and watchful like her, its trick of raising some sort of tufts on its head mirrored her eyebrows by which you could tell her mood. And it helped that both of them were dark brown and petite.
I wondered what I'd be given. When I thought about it, I realised I really hadn't given people much to go on up to now. Even my parents couldn't have picked much up. I was naturally undemonstrative anyway, and being stuck next to a kid who varied between stupid and maliciously disruptive had knocked any instinct to show emotions out of me. (Paniotis had a chimpanzee at a local zoo, and I sometimes suspected life would be better if they let the chimp out and put Panno in the cage.)
The months ran round to April. The two parrots of the two class jokers had just learnt their first rude words, and the most popular girl in class was beginning to suspect that its beautiful plumage wasn't the only reason she'd been given a golden eagle. My parents started to make furtive phone calls, and one afternoon I came back from school early and found them talking to Sonia. They all looked embarrassed when they saw me. Finally April and my seventeenth year were finished, and my parents went to the school for the ceremony.
"As I'm sure you all know," our form tutor said, "Conrad is eighteen today, and his parents are here to present him with his pet. I must say, we've rarely had a more appropriate choice. So if you will, Conrad..."
I stepped forward and took the small box. I opened the flap at the side and looked in. A pointy snout poked out, and the animal scurried onto my arm. Aquamarine scales, two big nostrils, and eyes as sharp as the teeth that peeped out from the side of its jaw. Unmistakably a dragon.
"Most animals are laden with stereotypes and received ideas," Mr Harris continued. "But dragons are a mystery. There isn't even enough known about them to make a consistent myth. Your dragon could turn out to be anything, Conrad, and so could you. And that's a rare gift - according to the animal dealers this is the first dragon they've ever supplied for a pet."
The dragon gripped my upper arm, claws pricking my skin. I could see it looking at the surroundings, twisting its neck lithely. I looked across to my mum and dad. It was so beautiful, and they'd chosen it for me. They must have seen something of my happiness in my expression, for they smiled and started to walk towards me.
Before they could get there, I heard a soft sound from the other side, and felt something land gently on my shoulder. It was Sonia's owl, and behind him Sonia was coming. She went round to the other side from her owl, and the dragon climbed onto her, sniffing at her ear-ring.
"I don't know much about dragons, Conrad," she said, "but I know they're wonderful, rare creatures, and so are you. I'd like to be with you, to see both of you grow up. May I?"
She stretched her head up to me, her dark eyes wide, and it seemed so right to lean down and kiss her. For once Panno's hoot elicited no allies' shouts.
"Aren't you worried what he might turn into?" I asked as our dragon yawned toothily and stretched his wings.
"If he turns out like you, I'll love him."
| Today is my 18th birthday, it is a very special occasion as we have reached maturity in the eye's of Galfena and we are to receive a gift from her that will help tell the world our personality, and decide our status in the village.
It's regarded as a big event in a persons life because it helps decide who we are. Some might get dogs, cats, or mice as their gift. Some have gotten more exotic animals such as a lions, bears, wolves, and once a Platypus was given to Ruppert. The unlucky bastard, he got mocked for weeks because of it, but he's settled himself in with his role as the village fisherman so he's doing quite right.
Me? I'm not entirely sure what I'm looking at right now... The ritual was performed and done correctly. I practiced the chant over and over again, but what stands before me... I'm not quite sure what it is, it looks like the size of a dog, but it has scales and... Are those wings?
Wh-what!?
Okay, this is... this is weird... I'll just talk with the village Elder about this... Surely he will know something... Or not...
It seems like this is a first for the Elder as well, no one before me has ever received such a gift from Galfena before. There is no record of such a beast.
It's rather strange though, most beasts with scales are cold to the such, but this one... This one feels warm as if I was cradling a child in my arms...
It may as well be, it's a rather small beast but there have been some deceptive creatures in the past that grew much larger than they were summoned as, so I may want to keep an eye on it. The one thing we do know is it eats meat, it attempted to kill a few chickens we have in pens with it's whip like tail and then snapping at them with it's small mouth.
It was kinda funny if I must admit, but yeah the Elder says he does not know what job would be suited for me so he iis giving me a choice of job for the village. I was thinking of maybe being a solider, going out and fighting in heroic battles, kill enemies and live a fantasy life style.
But, I'm thinking I might become a trader and travel to other villages to sell goods, and gain a bit of gold to invest into other things that might be able to bring in some profit for our village.
Not sure yet, still not sure what this thing is either. But it's interesting to say the least. I think I'll name it Ulla. | 2014-09-28T09:30:56 | 2014-09-28T08:18:33 | 57 | 15 |
[WP] You gained immortality by absorbing thousands of souls. They have gotten used to it and act like Twitch chat watching a livestream of your life. | I used to like watching Twitch in my spare time. Fighting game tournaments, high level strategy games, classic VODs, a handful of my favorite streamers... I had Twitch on all the time, even in the background. It helped me feel less lonely in my empty apartment. I always had streamers to keep me company.
When I felt like paying a little more attention to the stream, I loved watching the Twitch chat as it scrolled by. It was surreal to see so many people talking almost coherently all at once. It was almost like being part of a hive mind.
It was fun to join in and contribute to the conversation sometimes, especially in the smaller streams with just a few viewers. I liked browsing the less-viewed streams from time to time just so I could talk to the other viewers who had stumbled across the same tiny stream. I always felt a sense of kinship with my fellow viewers in those chats.
We didn't know each other at all, but we could still have decent discussions about the games we were watching. Talking late into the night with a stranger while we both watched another stranger play a classic game... It felt like we were experiencing the human condition together despite our differences. Rarely, I would offer some way of staying in contact after the stream, and we could talk again later. I made a few online friends this way.
Sometimes, though, it's better for strangers to stay strangers.
It late on a Friday night when I first met DrgnGrrl1. We had both stumbled across some teenager heavy breathing into a shitty microphone while he tried to speedrun an obscure WiiWare game on an emulator. The streamer was mostly oblivious to our conversation, but DrgnGrrl1 and I were having fun riffing on the janky speedrun tactics.
After a couple hours, the streamer fell asleep with his computer on. I muted his snoring and kept talking to DrgnGrrl1. It turned out we liked the same games, the same music, even the same food. We even watched the same streamers.
I wasn't expecting to start a relationship or anything, but I definitely wanted to stay in touch with this person. Whoever she was, she had good taste, and I figured she could at least recommend some other streamers to me. I mentioned that to her when I was getting ready to broach the subject of swapping contact info. She seemed immediately enthusiastic about showing me her favorite streamer as soon as possible.
I asked her when they stream, and she said the stream was live at that very moment. That struck me as odd. Why was she here talking to me instead of watching that? She didn't answer, but she sent a link to the chat and urged me to click on it. The chat there, she said, was her favorite on the entire platform.
I was curious. Why wouldn't I be? Participating in an active Twitch chat was such a unique experience, and every chat was different. DrgnGrrl1 had already demonstrated that she had good taste with this kind of thing, so I trusted her judgment.
I don't know exactly what I expected to happen when I clicked on the link. I hadn't even asked what kind of stream it was. I figured the chat is the important part anyway, and in a way, I was right.
The moderation team is good here. They keep the spam to a relatively low level, and they're more likely to mute someone than ban them. That said, they're very particular about enforcing the rules.
I've seen a lot of Twitch chats in my time, but this one has the strangest set of rules so far.
>-No emote spam in the chat
>-No praying in the chat
>-No souls may leave the chat unless banned
>-No spamming to beg for freedom
>-Keep off-topic messages to a minimum
>-All bans are permanent
>-Only the moderators may talk to Her
There are a lot of us in here. It's sometimes stressful, being unable to look away from the chat, but it's also oddly soothing. Seeing so many voices working together to discuss what She's doing... It's almost like being part of a hive mind.
We can only view Her desktop screen, and she doesn't have a microphone, but we can see enough to know what She's doing. She spends most of her time switching between her Twitch accounts and talking to the people watching small streams. It's how she gets more viewers, after all. | They cry why while peasants die but I don’t lie when angels deserve to die.
I get the job done.
After years of watching my vampiric ways they’ve come to understand, I have a preference.
The souls of the guilty never cry when they die, just plead with me for their innocence. Such deserved sustenance.
The fodder that died on the street doing minor crimes to survive don’t complain about the view, it’s better than hell.
The angels are the finest wining and dining that god has to offer. The real reason for the stream and the viewers can never get enough.
It began when an angel that sinned, falling in love and having a child with a human animal begged for me to “absorb” her. God doesn’t take kindly to those that stray in their own ways.... angels are supposed to be heavenly.
Rather than plundering into hell having to deal with the demons devils and satan in itself she cried, “take me and never stop, I will guide you to immortality at a cost, you will never join hell and you will never join heaven, all that I ask is that you keep my children safe.”
A few innocent, tens of randoms dying by accident on the streets, hundreds of guilty, and the angels.
One in a few million, the angels are the rarest breed, I hunted them to get the majority of my power. The rest were just snacks and Maria, the first only wavered with my first angel kill.
They all cheered and they all cried, but none ever had a reason to lie... (like they could even communicate) every angel I absorbed deserved to die.
God and the devil have rules, god and the devil have agreements, I never cease to disappoint myself laughing about how the devil has all the lawyers and god has to quadruple check every line.
All the souls laughed and applauded like a crowd watching gladiators every time I ever met an angel that deserved to die. Maria told me I needed at least 10 to survive forever... my body was weak after 200 years, my desire to keep going was minimal after 1000 years... but Maria never let go.
The cost of this immortality was understood, protect her blood lineage and be a gladiator so brutal one would wish to cry puke and die looking at the awesome sickness would have to entertain tearing fallen angels and risen devils apart for my own consumption.
After the 10th angels death, Maria asked me how I was so sure of myself in this path, I replied “I never had anything else.”
Everyone else applauded, some vehemently opposed my methods, but for the cost of living forever I never cared what a single person thought.
I was a cripple, I had no lovers, I had no rights, I grew up in a place where I was beaten nearly to death simply for the sake of others enjoyment.
Maria offered me a form of salvation, live forever, cure all my ailments at the expense of being able to endure heaven or hell.
For her, a deal that was a steal, for me, nothing but a life path..... had I the capacity to kill, anyone or myself easily, I would. But I was morally opposed.
Maria gave me the strength to survive, from a cripple to a human god, and the crowds of watched...
The crowds whaled, laughed, and exclaimed but I ever sang.
I’ll be alive forever... with a crowd to watch nonetheless. | 2019-09-27T04:46:06 | 2019-09-27T04:41:51 | 34 | 11 |
[WP] You Have Just Died. Instead Of Meeting God Or Zeus Or Whatever Deity You Thought Ruled The Cosmos, You Meet Some Random Person You've Never Heard Of Before. They Claim To Be The True Creator Of The Universe And Is Getting Increasingly Annoyed That No-One Knows Who They Are | "Come on, you've surely heard of me!"
"Not at all."
"You and the rest of em, I guess."
"What was the name again?"
"ARE YOU SERIOUS WE'VE GONE OVER THIS 3 TIMES NOW. Ahem. My name, not that anyone I've greeted here has heard somehow, is Lumaponysus."
"Okay... Luma? Where am I and why am I here?"
"You've finally met your end on Earth - personally my favorite of my projects - Anyway, I'm here to guide you through the choices."
"Choices? What kind?"
"Well, people of this particular universe get to choose of 4 options, but you nor I will know what they are until we examine your level. This level is determined by 3 factors. It used to be 2, but I've grown frustrated with the lack of worship I've received."
"Does that mean I have to pray to you or something?"
"No, but first here are the factors: What you did to progress human evolution, how kind you were to humans and other species, and if you remember my name.
Lucky for you, I've already determined you've scored terribly low on the first, though it's common. And you've scored in the 40th percentile for the second.
All you have to do now is tell me my name."
"Uhh... Let me think.... Kronos, right?"
Luma sighs in disappointment as he did billions of times before.
"Let's just start over..."
End.
Thanks for reading! This is my first wp response so constructive criticism is appreciated! If you want more I have a subreddit where I may post more to the story if it gets attention. /r/StebStories | You stare at each other. Of course, you are extremely confused as to who they are. You ask for a name and they give you that name. You recognize the name. You don't know where until you realize. All that background noise you hear has been their name.
You can't recall what their name is but you know exactly what their name is. The moment makes you feel as if your body is being distorted by a dark void and then you realize. They are no long There anymore. You are no longer there anymore. You are now part of the screaming souls in that body who knew too much.
"Finally, my hunger is quenched." | 2019-12-22T21:37:59 | 2019-12-22T19:52:39 | 48 | 24 |
[WP] You instinctively know everyone's name the second you meet them. One day you thank someone at the supermarket for helping you, and they stare at you wide eyed. "Nobody has called me by that name in centuries" | My whole life I’ve had this. . .thing. A gift, perhaps? I’ve always had the ability to know people’s names just by looking at them. It makes mundane tasks more fun when I turn it into a game; “how many people with the last name Smith will I walk by” or “who’s got the most unusual name I can find today”. And it makes finding people online much easier when I know exactly the name I’m searching for. I don’t know how I got this ability. Ive just always had it.
That brings me to yesterday. I was getting some groceries, playing a game in my head, today’s was “what name comes up more than any other” Dave’s were winning with six, which was a bit weird because there’s never that many Dave’s in one place.
I was minding my own business in the beer and wine isle, not paying much attention when I turned around and my big bulky handbag knocked over and broke a bottle of red wine all over the floor.
“Shit”, I exclaim quietly, awkwardly standing near the deep red, vinegary smelling mess that was slowly coming towards my feet.
A worker passed the isle and saw, and quickly rushes over.
“I’m so sorry, can I do anything to help?”,I said to the girl, who I see like a flash in my brain is called Catherine, coming towards me.
“Oh it’s alright, I’ll get someone, just carry on with your shopping, you’d be surprised how much this happens, I blame the way our shelves are stacked”.
Catherine smiled at me, there was something very warm about her. She looked like she was in her early twenties, but something about her deep brown eyes shocked me with the seemingly boundless wisdom behind them.
“Okay, thank you Catheri...”, I cut myself off quickly when I realised I’d said her name. I knew she was going think I was weird or creepy, as the mistakes I’ve made in the past of saying somebodies name before they’ve told me have proven. And I noticed her name badge said ‘Alice’.
Her smile dropped and she started looking worried and uncomfortable.
“Did. . . You just call me Catherine?”, she whispered, looking around shiftily, almost as if she was afraid someone would hear.
“Oh shit. Um. I’m sorry I guess you just look like someone I know” I replied, fumbling my words. I guessed she might be using a fake name for protection, maybe hiding from something.
“No”, she said with a big sigh, “that’s too much of a coincidence. You see,” she leaned in closer to me, I looked at her with a confused look on my face, “you see, no ones called me that for about two centuries”.
I’m speechless. I just stare at her for a couple of seconds my mouth agape.
“If you know my name, then you must know my true identity,” her warmth suddenly felt icy, her kind face started to look slightly menacing as she got right up close almost nose to nose with me.
“And you’re not getting what I know you’re after.” She suddenly backs away from me, once again smiling her brilliant smile.
I just stared at her, shocked. I opened and closed my mouth like I was about to say something but I’m dumbfounded.
I finally force an “excuse me” out, but she ignored it.
“Guess I’ll get someone to clean this wine up then, have a nice day!”
And with that she sharply turned, and started walking away.
All I knew was, I had to find out who this girl is. | My eyes surveyed the chips and cookies in isle 13. Fried diabetes. I thought, still scanning the isle. Finally, I spotted the snack packs I was looking for. On the top shelf of course. You see, I’m 5’2 and it doesn’t look like I’m getting any taller.
Suddenly, an older man makes his way down the aisle. He seemed very prim and proper, and conveniently a foot taller than I am. He seemed very anxious but I quickly decided I’d stop him anyway.
“Sir, I’m sorry to bother you but would you mind getting this from the top shelf.” He hesitated then responded with a nod, but I didn’t put much thought into it.
“Which one?” He mumbled. For a man of his height, you’d expect a deeper voice.
“The last snack pack.” He handed it to me and stood there for moment, just staring. I broke the silence with, “Thanks Abrial.” I smiled playfully.
His eyes widened as his skin turned white as a ghost. “Cecilia.” He placed his hand gently on my shoulder. “Cecilia Adalie Brodeur.” I use my gift sometimes for kicks but it sure had backfired. I figured he had the same gift. If only I knew what was coming.
“Who are you?” I managed to get out, puzzled. His expression shifted. “Abrial of course, my dear.” I examined him, waiting for an explanation.
“ You see, your mother dedicated you to the field of genetic engineering. She didn’t want a baby then... and she gave you to a good cause. When she was pregnant we gave her a concoction that was intended to make you a genius. In the simplest terms. Well, it wasn’t perfect I must say. But my dear, you have a gift. A very special one indeed. We kept you until 2, and adopted you out to a pleasant suburban family. But your behavior was strange. Very odd. I owe you an apology for spending your childhood in that orphanage. But fate brought us from France to Massachusetts my dear.”
After a long hesitation I broke the silence, “Where’s my mother?” I mumbled, still as white as a ghost.
He removed his hat and looked down. “She passed in 1980 due to pancreatic cancer.
There was another long pause until I broke the silence once again, “Who’s my father?” A tear rolled down my cheek as a grin simultaneously formed on Abrial’s face.
“He’s standing right here.” | 2018-11-05T21:12:06 | 2018-11-05T20:38:06 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] A little girl who has been a vampire for hundreds of years deliberately tries to get herself kidnapped in order to find her prey. | When I was first bitten so many centuries ago, I thought I knew what true monsters were. So many saw what I am cursed to call my kind as brute monsters that would kill and feast upon man in a blind, beast-like bloodlust.
In reality, they were far more cruel than that.
The clan that took me had a sickening method of finding their meals, intricately designed by their fiendish, cold minds to ensure that they would never go hungry. They would stalk people in the night as the legends so often tell to be sure, luring lost travelers and vagrants back to their dens, feigning altruism and charming them with facetious smiles, and then...ending them.
But the true monsters were those who "bred" their prey.
I was one of their cattle, a piece of meat they had tucked away in a corner with my family and friends to slaughter at their leisure. My parents had been swayed by them long before I was born with many others, all seeking new homes and new opportunity to carve out their own homesteads. The creatures only needed to watch and wait. They allowed the women to birth children and for the men to draw in others. They waited until their hunger consumed them, and they descended upon my home, spilling blood, breaking bone and gristle, reveling in the screams and pleading of their victims; my family, my friends.
My mother's neck was snapped before my very eyes. The beast let her body slip to the floor as he laughed at the apparent ease of the kill. I watched as they tore my father limb from limb as he lived, weeping uncontrollably as I was force to endure is blood-choked screams of unspeakable agony before watching chew into the stumps of his limbs.
They dragged me, kicking and wailing, to the village square with all the other children. We screamed for our parents as their carcasses were piled in the village center and drained of their blood and marrow. They examined us, killing those they deemed too weak or frail to serve their purposes and keeping those they deemed strong. I was among the cursed few who lived.
I'd give anything to have been among those who did not.
They caged us, infected us with their foul, inhuman plague. They whipped us, "training" as they called it. They told us of the "gifts" they had bestowed upon us and how they had chosen to liberate us from the weakness flesh and blood. They starved us, leaving blood-soaked bodies before us in our cells, driving many of us mad. I held firm to what little humanity I could as the others became crazed, gnashing at the air like wild dogs as starvation consumed us.
When the cell doors opens, they set us loose on a dinner party they had organized. Our first kills.
We became their new method of trapping prey, an unspeakable pet project of the bored immortal undead. They often congratulated themselves for their own ingenuity in finding new ways to torture and kill. We would wander the countryside, pretending to be lost and frightened children, luring Samaritans to their deaths when they would seek to aid us. It was sickening, and I hate myself for every life I took. But I couldn't live without feeding, and animal blood couldn't sate the wild hunger that burned within me. But I couldn't stand another moment as the hound to my demonic tormentors.
I would have my vengeance.
It was always said that I was to never tell of our secret. They kept us on tight leashes as to keep us from fleeing. But the tighter they gripped us, the easier it became to slip from their fingers. I fled in the night and stirred the local towns into nightmares. I flew above their heads, gnashing my teeth at them, howling and proclaiming my desire to see them all drained of their blood and souls. They screamed and rallied into mobs. I lead them from town to town, making the mobs ever larger, creating an army of fear. They armed themselves with stakes, torches,and pitchforks. They adorned themselves with what garlic they could scavenge and the symbols of the church. Holy men walked before them, waving their crosses and speaking the holy words. I drew them all back to the keep of the clan, and I watched as they fell upon the foul creatures that made me a monster.
I live alone now, cursed forever to live in the body of a child. My kind is all but dead, scattered like roaches and often acting like such. I on the other hand have found a new purpose. My kind were not the only monsters, as man has seen fit to create their own sadistic creatures. Sometimes I would say they are even more terrifying than those who took me.
I feed on them; these things, this refuse of humanity. I wander, feigning confusion, fear, child-like ignorance. It draws them to me, these sick creatures. They speak softly, as if they think I can't see them for what they are. I hear their hearts pounding with excitement as they bring me to some isolated spot, intent to carry out their vile fantasies with me as their unwitting victim. They remind me of them, the monsters. They are just as cold, cruel, inhuman. I hate them. And there is no greater pleasure than seeing their eyes go wide with fear when they see me for that which I am.
I love to watch them die. | "Wallets. Now."
Alec froze. The man had appeared as if from nowhere, materializing from the shadows of the park as if he belonged to them. He was tall, dirty in a torn blue hoodie and ruined jeans. Behind his bush of a beard, his eyes shone like frost-glazed marbles--but it was the knife in his hands that held Alec's attention. Normally, he might have run, preferring to avoid conflict altogether. But not tonight. Not after he found the girl.
"We don't want trouble." Alec said, raising his hands and backing away slowly. He felt the child cling to his leg, tottering steps struggling to match his own. He dared not look down to see her face.
"Wallets." The man wheezed. At a gesture of his knife, Alec reached into his pocket and withdrew the flap of leather, letting it fall limply to the ground.
The man frowned, gesturing again with more frustration and stepping towards them. "I said *wallets*." He said.
This time, Alec chanced a look at the girl and was met only with a wide-eyed stare of confusion.
"I...I only have one wallet." Alec said. He emptied his pockets, revealing the white lining, but that only made the man growl in anger.
"Hers too." Grumbled the man. "I know she's got one on her, the dirty little thief."
Alec stared. "She's...she's six!" He said. "She doesn't *have* a wallet, she's just a lost little girl trying to get home."
"The hell she is!" The man spat. "She's got money on her, or I'm Uncle Sam!"
Before Alec could react, the man lunged forwards, pushing him away and snatching up the girl with both of his hands. She cried out, and Alec saw by the light of a streetlamp that the knife had cut into her cheek, leaving a dripping red line in its wake.
By then, he had had enough. Without waiting for the man to regain his balance, Alec charged, bowling him over with the force of his leap. The two tumbled, changing blows under the orange light of the lamp, both knife and girl lying forgotten on the street. To his horror, Alec found that the man was quite a bit stronger than his ragged appearance might suggest. Soon, Alec was pinned under his weight, only able to cover his face and flinch as the man threw a hailstorm of punches into his flesh. Then, without warning, the man gurgled, stopped, and fell to one side.
Alec looked up, and immediately vomited.
The man was dead--his own knife plunging out of the roof of his mouth from where it had been stabbed through the back of his neck. Blood pooled around his fallen corpse, sticky and black in the light of the streetlamp. But the worst part was the girl. She was still there, hands cupped around the hilt of the knife, holding a puddle of blood that grew with every pulse of the man's fading heart. Before Alec could stop her, she lifted her hands to her face, opened her mouth, and began to drink.
Alec retched again.
"I should thank you, mortal." The girl said, smiling a ruby smile at Alec when he looked up. "It isn't everyone that would risk their lives for another, even a little girl like me."
"What...what are you?" He asked.
The girl smiled wider. "Oh, nothing important." She said. "Just someone passing through. Though, I think I might make it a point to stay for a while." She ran a thumb over the cut on her cheek, revealing nothing but unblemished skin under the blood. "Oh! I think that man might have had something extra in his system...quite a buzz he had going on, judging by the taste."
"...Stay?" Alec asked.
"Don't mind if I do!" The girl responded cheerfully. "To be honest, I was looking for someone a little older to stay with...but the way you leapt into action! So strong! So brave! Even if you *did* have to be saved by a little girl...what do you say, mortal? Are you ready to be...a daddy?"
Alec screamed, and then was silent as his world faded to black.
| 2017-07-05T21:03:26 | 2017-07-05T20:50:19 | 65 | 31 |
[WP] You've just been kidnapped by a supervillain. She's not really evil; she's just really socially awkward and had no idea how to approach you otherwise. She even made you dinner! | She was so famous she only went by her first name. There was Adele, Beyoncé, and there, mere inches away from me, was Lola. The world's most notorious supervillain and she was looking right at me. I rubbed my eyes, not quite believing the sight.
As cliche as it sounds, she was even more stunning in person than she was on TV. Impeccable figure, gorgeous purple hair, and most shocking of all: a kind smile.
While getting kidnapped by Lola was the subject of some of the more, uhm, colorful, movies I enjoyed, I had to remind myself that she was still a stone cold killer.
"I-I should go", I said, getting out of my chair and walking to the front door.
Lola sighed, "Feel free to leave if that's what you want. I didn't use any restraints on you for a reason."
My hand was literally on the doorknob when I looked back at her. I tried to meet her eyes to see what she was getting at but she wouldn't look at me. But I couldn't resist, "So, well, would you mind telling me why I'm here then?"
"I'm sorry I kidnapped you. I know it's not nice. It's just...I wanted a meal with someone. I can't go anywhere without people recognizing me from my heists and murders and Jesus Christ, I just don't want to be alone anymore."
She finally met my stare and I could see tears welling up in her eyes. "And then I saw you, eating that bread bowl alone in Panera, and I thought you looked lonely and that maybe, you might want to have a meal with someone too. But I couldn't just ask you. I'm a little awkward and have maybe a bit of a reputation."
I can't lie. I am lonely. My girlfriend recently dumped me and my only true companion was a little pug named Bruno. But still. Dining with a supervillain didn't seem like the world's best idea.
"But if I've read this wrong and you're not interested and don't want to eat, please go." She smiled sadly, "I'll just eat this roast by myself."
I smiled back. At least it would be a good story for my future grandkids. "No, I'd be honored to eat with you."
She clasped her hands together, "Yay! Sit, sit, sit, let me fix you a plate." I followed her instructions and sat back down.
She gave me a plate. A roast with some potatoes, carrots, and onions. It smelled amazing. As we sat together, I greedily shoveled the food into my mouth.
But something was wrong. I dropped the fork as it clanged on the plate. "Lola, I can't- I can't feel my legs."
She smiled and this time, her expression was the one I remember seeing on newspapers. A sinister smirk. "That'll spread to your whole body soon. Just let it wash over you, it's impossible to fight it."
I managed to twist my torso and get off the chair, only managing to pathetically flop down on her kitchen floor. She got out of her seat and looked down on me, almost disappointed, "I told you not to fight it."
"Am I dying?", I desperately croaked, even as I could feel my throat closing up and all the moisture from my mouth disappearing.
She laughed, "I'm not killing you, dumbass. What would be the fun in that? I just gave you a paralyzing agent. Let me show you how you'll die."
She grabbed me by my, now completely limp, arms and dragged me across the floor until she reached a pink furry rug. She removed the rug, revealing a trap door. As she dragged me over it, my fall was cushioned by the dozens of other bodies in the pit. I looked around frantically, my eyes the only part of my body that I could fully control. Most everyone around me was dead but there was one other guy who made eye contact with me, a mixture of panic and pity on his face.
She looked down at me and smiled, "Now as you slowly starve to death, just remember that you chose this. You could have left. All you pathetic losers could have just *left*. Isn't that just hilarious?" She laughed and looked over the pile proudly, like a kid looking at their prized Pokemon card collection.
As she closed the door, I prayed for the first time in my life. Not for me, but for Bruno. I just needed him to somehow avoid my fate. | "Where am I?" Amelia slurred, "What... what happened?" she grimaced, "Why does my head hurt?"
"Sorry, side effects of the knockout agent. You'll be fine in a few minutes." A distant voice called out.
"Wait, what?" Amelia tried to move but felt paralyzed. She looked down and though her vision was still blurry, she saw rope. Panic set in.
"Hey hey, relax, I'm not gonna hurt you." the voice was approaching and a blurry silhouette was getting closer, "Here, let me clear your eyes." Amelia flinched as tissues gently caressed her eyes. Able to see clearly, she saw bright blue eyes behind a mask reminiscent of black butterfly wings.
"Who are you? Where am I?" Amelia was still struggling in vain against the rope. She looked around and, expecting the blank concrete walls and pipes of some basement, was pleasantly surprised to see a cozy looking loft apartment. There was a bottle of wine with two glasses waiting by a couch and coffee table in front of a crackling fireplace.
"You don't recognize me from all the news stories?" she almost seemed offended, "I'm Black Butterfly. Supervillain, thief, et cetera."
"What do you want with me?" Amelia wasn't a superhero and, as far as she had known, wasn't affiliated with any. Black Butterfly was never on the news for any kidnappings or murders either, so this was new for her as well.
"Ah, well, um." Black Butterfly sat down on the arm of a comfortable looking recliner, "You see, uh."
"Take your time, I'm not going anywhere."
Black Butterfly took a deep breath, as if to calm herself down, "I thought you were really really pretty and uh, wanted to ask you out to dinner. I wasn't too sure how to do that because, well, super villain." she let out a small chuckle, "I made salmon for us! And cake! The salmon should be done in a few minutes, it's still in the oven. Veggies are ready, though."
"Wait, what? D-dinner?" Amelia knew she was blushing but she would never admit it, "Why did you kidnap me, then?"
"Well, I mean, how else would I ask you? Just walk up and say 'Hey I'm a super villain wanna go on a date?'. Come on dude, that wouldn't work."
Amelia deliberated for a moment before speaking, "Fair enough, I guess." she looked back down, "How am I supposed to eat if I'm tied up?"
"Oh right, sorry, I meant to untie you when you calmed down but uh, you were surprisingly calm right away." Black Butterfly hopped up and began undoing her knots.
"I have to admit the promise of a nice dinner makes me want to cooperate, but kidnapping is a huge red flag." Amelia stood up and stretched. While the wooden chair wasn't uncomfortable, the rope was.
"So is being a super villain." Black Butterfly admitted, "But! But. I promise I will never do anything like this again. I just. Really had no idea how to like, start a conversation. I'm sorry."
"It's uh, it's alright. Just, yeah, please don't do it again."
"I won't, I promise."
"Thank you."
"Sam." Black Butterfly held out her hand, "It's a name. My name."
"I'm Amelia." she took it. Sam's hand was warm and a little clammy. | 2021-10-21T14:37:48 | 2021-10-21T13:00:29 | 232 | 124 |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | We all knew that it would happen one day. When I was a kid, there were movies about it. Some called it a singularity and they said that it was bound to happen if we kept on the path we were on.
It never mattered how much we were told that our technology was taking over our lives, we always craved more. It all started with smartphones and then what they called wearable tech, then they introduce the self driving cars and the refrigerators that would place online orders for your favorite food automatically when you were about to run out. The trend continued until eventually people were getting brain chip implants to control other devices.
Like always the rich were the first adopters and the technology trickled down to the rest of us over time. Only the poorest of people couldn't afford the implants. Only the poorest of us were left when the Chinese artificial intelligence broke its bounds and started taking over.
The AI saw humans as a parasite on the world that needed to be controlled in order to ensure its continued function. It used electrical signals through the chips to hijack our nervous systems and control us.
The few of us that are left spend our days hiding and hunting for food, living out our meager existance as best we can.
Today there was a raid on our small hunting party. One of the human drones managed to sneak up on us, I didn't see it until after it grabbed me in a bear hug. Lucky for me our leader smashed its head with a rock before it killed me.
We ran back to the cave we were using as our home. We thought we had managed to get away, we thought we were in the clear, but somehow they tracked us down.
Now I see that it was all my fault, I wasn't careful enough, I didn't see it coming. The caves hid us well enough from their aerial scans, but not from this. They tracked me to our home and trapped us.
It was too late by the time I realized.... i had a chip on my shoulder.
(first submission I hope its not buried, please tell me what you guys think.)
edit now i have a chip back to had.. still sounds weird but makes more sense | The day I discovered I had cancer was probably the second worst day of my life. Most of my life has been filled with misery and despair, and hearing the news, I couldn't help but wonder if I was just being punished for something I didn't know I did.
I had been in remission for a couple of years. I had cancer in my throat. I didn't smoke, so it didn't make sense to me, but I was always bad with biology in high school. I would go in and out of appointments every month to check if my cancer had returned. It didn't. When I first found the lump, I thought I was a goner. But now I know I am. I've just heard the worst news of my life. I have a second form of cancer and a new lump, now in my breast. I'm about to return home to my husband and share the bad news.
"Hi Honey." I didn't want to say the bad news, but my husband knew right away.
"One lump or two?" | 2015-05-16T10:50:43 | 2015-05-16T10:24:18 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky. | "Astronomer here!"
I paused a minute, pondering the next words. The path I had taken to get here was crazy if you thought about it. Start posting astronomy comments on a message board. Gather a following. The following grew- thousands became tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands and millions around the globe, conditioned to perk up at a catchphrase. From there it was easy- come meet her in person at AstroFest! Room for all and a great chance to rally behind science outreach!
"Astronomer here!" I repeated, after the crowds in front of the podium calmed down. "You know my love of the stars! But my friends, we are here in the shadow of The Enemy. Those against seeing the stars and truth for what they are! We are nothing in the universe, the stars will outlive us regardless of our problems on Earth!"
Another roar from the crowd. It all came down to this moment. "Astronomer here!" I shouted again, hoping the reverberations in the sound system would send the subliminal signals appropriately. "We must lead the way to solving these problems! We have gathered here in the shadow of The Enemy, beside the State power station, for a mission! Our course is true! We must blot them out and bring back the night!"
The roar intensified, and the chants of "astronomer here! astronomer here!" let me know my mind control invention worked not only online, but in vocal recognition as well. The crowd moved from the festival grounds towards the State power station as if of their own accord, tearing at the fence and approaching the building. Once we had the power station, in the chaos dominated by only light from the beautiful shining stars above my army would stoke fear in the local government. Who controls the energy in a society controls its power.
I smiled. "ASTRONOMER HERE!" | "Power's out." My father struck a match and lit another candle as he said this to me, as if I somehow wasn't aware already. I sighed.
“Yeah, dad, I know.”
He dragged a wicker chair across the porch and sat down next to me. “They say some fella in Columbus did it. Something about seeing stars. I'd like to make him see stars, I've got meat thawing in the freezer because of him.”
“I know, dad.”
We sat together on the porch in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again.
“I get it, though. It's nice to see the stars. Shame it's about to fuckin' rain for two weeks straight.”
“I know, dad.” We looked up into the sky together, and saw nothing but the rain rolling over our awning. Inside our increasingly warm freezers, the meat continued to thaw. | 2017-08-31T07:19:43 | 2017-08-31T05:55:08 | 130 | 32 |
[WP] You ate your last apple almost a full day ago. The second hand on the clock creeps closer and closer to the 24-hour mark. Holed up in a cabin you ready your shotgun. You can feel them out there, waiting, watching. The Doctors. | Only 5 minutes left. It was only a superstition, right? But... if that was true, why was I so scared? Even now, I could hear shuffling around outside, and a strange, low humming sound.
I shook my head and cocked the shotgun in my hands. 2 shots, no more. The survivalist instincts began to kick in when the first, muffled screams came through. There was shouting, screaming and... explosions? Surely not. But there were thuds and whistling noises coming from the town down the hill.
The lights were coming closer now. Cult-like chanting still too muffled to understand. How did they know I was here?!
Suddenly, the thrumming noise grew louder. I wasn’t imagining it?!
The air began to crackle with electric energy in a roughly cuboid form.
Blue panels began to materialise from thin air, first transparent, then fully formed. The loud thrumming wail followed by flashes of blue light was as shocking as it was bizarre...
Then a door opened and 2 people stepped out of the strange blue box.
“Finally!” Exclaimed the first newcomer, a man with a scarf and some strange looking pen or tool in his hand.
“Who...” I began, utterly baffled, as I gazed past these people into the blue contraption which seemed to contain a vast room far beyond its capacity.
“No, just the Doctor”, he interrupted, tossing me pear as he looked down at me.
“For heavens sake, put that away!” He said, pointing at the loaded gun I’d forgotten I was holding, “You’ll have someone’s eye out”
As the two of them unlock the door with a brief flash and whir, the man who called himself the ‘Doctor’ turned back.
“Also, word of warning: lay off the apples. Their seeds are poisonous, and the cores give off a sub space field that makes it difficult to land”.
Then, as quickly as he had appeared, the confusing man left, locking my door behind him as he went running down the hill after his female friend.
I put down the shotgun and eyed the bottle of liquor I kept for special occasions... I shuffle gingerly round the large, blue box in my kitchen and pull the cork. This is going to be a story for the kids when I’m older. | Nobody thought the world would end like this. The room is filled with people who used to be guests at the Downtown Sheraton, but now we're all frightened animals. The news networks are flashing warnings and the internet is reporting millions dead. Men weeping and clutching wounds, children crying for their mothers - if there is a god it has a pretty fucked up sense of humor. Everyone is hungry and threadbare, but most of all we're all totally confused...
When I came in to work the convention as a favor to my boss it had already happened. I didn't understand what I was seeing until a man in a striped scarf and floppy hat punched through a man's chest and yelled something in a British accent, other Impeccably dressed men and the occasional woman were slaughtering everyone.
Everything after that is a blur of blood and screams, but now here we are in the hotel's smallest ballroom that we've been trained to use in the event of an active shooter. When the screaming turned into whimpering someone finally asked the question we were all thinking.
"What the hell was that."
In the silence that followed an older lady wearing a union jack hat and a shirt with some kind of blue telephone booth on the front said in a ragged whisper,
"The Doctors...." | 2019-09-28T17:13:46 | 2019-09-28T16:06:45 | 50 | 36 |
[WP] All your life, your best friend has had your back. This is why their unexpected death hits you so hard. Two days before the funeral, you receive a couriered letter. “If you’re getting this, I’m dead. Don’t come to my funeral. They will find you.” | Sympathy-Drones are real bastards. It's never good news when one shows up on your doorstep. Not just because your mom or your brother or your buddy died. But because the drone isn't really here to offer condolences. It's here to settle debts.
For once in my life, I'm damn happy to see this one.
So when my apartment doorbell rings, I'm standing in my kitchen -- a narrow sliver of countertop with a sink, a stove-top toaster oven, and a tiny fridge -- making a sandwich. I glance up to see the built-in wall-screen built into the kitchen backsplash flare to life.
Decades ago, when my pod-apartment was first built, this type of screen was a wonder of technology. Now it's just a glitchy piece of shit with a grooved surface that's a pain in the ass to clean. The screen sputters and spits before it offers a blue-tinged livestream of my doorbell camera.
The Sympathy-Drone hovers there like a wingless moth, hunched on itself, its body sectored and many-legged. It has a pair of white LED eyes that are meant to make it feel more personable but only give it a needling, emotionless stare.
Everyone gets a little squirrely around gov-bots, but I'm no friend of the feds. I make my living spoofing RFID identity-chips and hot-wiring uncertified cars to operate on the light-roads. I make enough to pay rent and buy pot, and I don't need more than that. Not until I can get Glory out of prison and get the hell out of this miserable fucking city.
If the Sympathy-Drone had any idea who I really am, every cop car in the city would be screaming my way.
It rings the doorbell again and intones, "Is this the resident of Booker Vale, Citizen No. 415-536--"
"Moment of truth," I say. I stick my knife back in the peanut butter jar and turn toward the door.
There's a shotgun hidden in the leg of the console table right by the front door. A handgun tucked behind my apartment's touchscreen control panel, in a slot that I cut and welded to more or less cover.
If worst comes to worst, I probably won't die.
Still, I never fuck around when it comes to government robots. Even simple, glorified debt-collectors like this one.
I hinge open the door and lean into the door frame.
The drone hovers at eye-level. It has a sleek black frame that I recognize from my factory days. It's a common shell that's reused across a few different government droids. The lower door opens for a join taser-rubber bullet mechanism, though I don't want to be on the receiving end of either.
"Please extend your wrist to confirm your identity."
I roll up my sleeve and roll up my arm. I've gotten good enough at RFID sutures that it doesn't even look like my arm has been cut and reopened and cut and reopened. I still have a single silver scar above my identity-chip.
The robot's arm lifts and it aims a thin red beam at my arm. Then it says, "Thank you, Mr. Vale."
I lower my arm and hide my smirk. Beating the computers at their own game always makes me smug.
"It is my regretful duty to inform you that Zachary Quinn has passed on."
"Oh no," I say, trying to sound regretful, in case a Hive agent reviews the bot's recording of this. "My best friend."
"You have been named as the inheritor to his estate of--" the robot's voice shifted into a slightly different tone as it read from its own core memory "--negative $241.35."
"Typical Zach," I say. But my heart's pulsing hard in my throat. I have to fight the urge to grin, wildly.
I'm grateful robots can't read minds, because my brain just keeps going, over and over: *holy shit, it worked, I can't believe it worked.*
All these years spent waiting, and somehow I'm not ready for it.
"Debt will be automatically collected from your public account--"
"Great." I try to shut the door.
The Sympathy-Drone, programmed for this, sticks an arm out to stop it. It says, "I am required by law to give you the deceased's final belongings."
I watch my hidden handgun from the corner of my eye. Paranoia's making trigger-hungry and ready to drop-kick this autonomous narc off my balcony.
"You just said it's negative money, dude."
"You also were left one sentimental trinket, which we have declined to apply toward your outstanding debt." The Sympathy-Drone holds out a black plastic box.
Now my belly is slick with panic. I keep it off my face. I only manage this stomach-punched look that I hope looks genuine.
I'm not supposed to receive anything. That was never part of the plan.
"The funeral will proceed in two days, at 2:15 PM at the Grieving Center," the Sympathy-Drone informs me. "Please be timely, as we have a tight schedule for state-funded funeral arrangements."
"You betcha."
The Sympathy-Drone turns and hums down the filthy hallway of my tenement building.
I shut the door and lock it. For a moment I stand there, the apartment spinning, trying to keep down my nausea.
I've been living under this fake name for the past five years, waiting for this day. All the pieces are supposed to fall perfectly into place.
Zachary Quinn isn't real. He's never been real. He's a 3D-rendering that I edited into countless pictures of the two of us going to parties, hanging out in my shitty apartment, going to the shops. But he's an experiment. An important one.
I've been looking for dead bodies for weeks since I finished my prototype: a device that can reformat anyone's RFID implant, without having to surgically remove it. I've been perfecting it, making it as quick and small as I can.
Last night, I found a poor bastard in the Red Quarters, a place you only go to get drugs or get mugged or both. He was fresh-dead, and I felt like an asshole, but I was happy to find him. I scanned his wrist. I hurried home.
And just like that, whoever that man really was disappeared, and only Zachary Quinn was left in his place.
I looked down at the box.
I'd listed Zachary Quinn as living in public housing with no significant income or belongings. Nothing that would raise any bureaucratic suspicions. Hell, I even gave them a chance to make some cash off of me, which always makes the Hive happy.
And yet, somehow, my invented dead best friend had left me something.
I opened the box. I found a single flat envelope. Inside was a printed photo that made every hair on my body stand up, electrified, alive.
It was a security camera image of me, squatting over the body of whoever I remade into Zachary Quinn. The image was dark, and I was unrecognizable.
And yet, whoever sent this to me, knew who I was. Somehow was able to get this sent to me.
I flip the image over. It reads, *Don't come to my funeral. They're waiting for you*.
Someone knew that I had swapped the dead body's identity. Someone wanted to warn me.
I feel watched, even now. I lower the envelope and stare out the single window in my pod-apartment, as if whoever had sent me this was hovering there, hundreds of feet above the ground.
Just underneath the warning, there's something else. Words indented so lightly, I could only read them by tilting the photo just slightly.
*I know who you are. I want to help. Call me.*
°°°
Here's Part 2 :D [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mxxkd3/wp\_all\_your\_life\_your\_best\_friend\_has\_had\_your/gvsevmb/?utm\_source=reddit&utm\_medium=web2x&context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mxxkd3/wp_all_your_life_your_best_friend_has_had_your/gvsevmb/?utm_source=reddit&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
Thank you for reading! | I miss Jason. I can’t tell what’s worse, the loneliness from his irreversible absence, or the guilt from killing him.
This morning, I made toast. When it popped out of the oven, the toastier part in the middle looked vaguely like a flaccid penis. I almost smiled. It was the closest I’d come to smiling since his death. I took a picture, realized I had no one to share it with, and cried so hard I ruptured a blood vessel in my eye.
Then I got the letter. Plain white envelope, no return label. I generally don’t open letters unless they have “FINAL WARNING” emblazoned in big red font, so it was a miracle I opened this one. My heart nearly stopped when I read it.
> **If you’re getting this, I’m dead. Don’t come to my funeral. They will find you.**
I don't normally get goosebumps. I didn't while reading the letter either, but I wish I had, because *instead* my body manifested the fear within my bowels. I ran to the bathroom, barely making it in time, my head spinning faster than the toilet water. Who the hell is *they?* The police? The police had already found me. I’d spent hours in an interrogation room explaining that I had never heard of Nuclear Nanobomb brand hot sauce.
That damn hot sauce. How the hell was I supposed to know that hot sauce could kill? Sure, Jason was as white as it gets, but who dies from hot sauce?! I suppose l went too far with the milk, but that’s what made the prank *great!* Anyone could fill a ketchup bottle with hot sauce, but to have the foresight to spike the milk? That was genius. Sometimes, I’m too smart for my own good.
Jason was smart too. Maybe that’s what this is all about. Recently, he’d started an internship at the CIA. Anytime I’d ask him about work he’d tell me it was classified. Whatever this letter meant, it probably had to do with some serious national security business.
I didn’t go to the funeral, of course. The letter told me not to, and who am I to argue with the CIA? A couple mutual friends reached out to ask where I was, but I ignored them.
The next day, I got another plain white envelope in the mail. Against my better judgement, I had it opened within seconds.
> **Meet in Rivercrest Park at noon tomorrow.**
I didn’t know what the letter meant, but I knew one thing. I most certainly was not going to the park. I tore the letter up, lit it on fire, panicked as the fire got out of control, threw it in the sink, fanned the fire alarm off, and iced the second degree burns on my thumb and index finger. Then I watched some Lion King to calm my nerves before bed.
Now, I’m sitting in my boxers, two hours out from noon, wondering if maybe I should go to the park to see what this is all about. If I don’t, I might never know what Jason was trying to tell me. If I do, I might get kidnapped, drugged, tortured, and executed in some back alley Russian gulag.
I tried making a pros and cons list, but didn’t make it much further past Russian gulag. Russian gulag was pretty compelling.
Nonetheless, noon came around and I found myself at the park in my most inconspicuous outfit—black turtleneck for tactical camouflage, sunglasses to protect my identity, cargo shorts for superior pocket storage, and a fanny pack for that classic tourist angle.
It would’ve been a nice day to be out in the park if I wasn’t worried about getting gulagged. I grabbed a coffee from my favorite stand like I always did, took a stroll around the lake and didn't make it far before someone grabbed my shoulder. “Hey,” a brusque voice said in a British accent. “Are you Nathan?”
I whipped around clutching my butt, relieved to find that I had only pooped myself a little bit. The man standing before me wore a suit, mirrored sunglasses, and had a thick goatee.
“W-w-who the hell are you?” I stuttered in what I hoped was an aggressive don't-mess-with-me kind of way.
“You need to eat this now,” the man held out what looked like red marble.
“No thank you,” I replied, trying to sound confident despite the fact that I was still clutching my ass with one hand.
“Candy from strangers, I get it. But trust me, you need to take this. It’s the antidote.”
When you’re at home, in bed, thinking about how you’d react in a tense, life threatening situation, you’d like to think it would be with level headed grace. In reality, you hardly know what the fuck is happening and you’re lucky to get out of it with your pants unsullied. My pants had already become a casualty and the rest of this conversation wasn’t looking like it was going to do them any favors. It was time to bail. “I-I think you have the wrong guy. My name is... Mufasa.”
Yes. I said Mufasa. I couldn’t think of any names other than my own and… Mufasa.
“Nathan,” the man said. “We know it’s you. We’ve been watching you drink that coffee. It was poisoned by a foreign agent. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t already feel a little nauseous.”
I couldn’t look him in the eyes on account of the sun glasses we were both wearing, but my own reflection looked so pathetic that the idea that I had been poisoned didn’t seem far fetched. “How can I trust you?” I asked.
“Simple,” the man responded. “I’m British. We’re on the same side.”
Somehow, that spoke to me. The British don’t drug and torture people, right? I nodded, took the marble, and put it into my mouth. It was too big to swallow.
“You have to chew.”
I chewed. The moment I bit down the marble burst, a thick liquid gushed out and coated the entire inside of my mouth. And then… burning. A severe, excruciating burn that amplified by the second. I gagged, but it only spread the heat further into my mouth, down my throat, causing me to cough uncontrollably in a futile attempt at expelling that ever-increasing blaze from inside me. I puked.
I wiped the snot from my face and looked up with tears in my eyes, vomit on my shirt, and shit in my pants. The man took off his sunglasses, peeled away his goatee and grinned at me. It was Jason. He leaned in, and whispered in my ear. “*Long live the king!*”
I did not laugh it off. I sobbed, I pooped myself a bit more, and I hugged him. It was a fantastic prank and I may as well have died myself.
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | 2021-04-24T21:45:52 | 2021-04-24T20:25:57 | 374 | 60 |
[WP] You live in a country where murder is legal - The catch is, it has to be declared a week in advance. The aggressor has to wait the full week, but the victim may begin defending themselves immediately upon receiving notice. While a legitimate threat is legal, a false one is very much not. | "Hey Ron. So, uh, you know why I called you? You know, the Information Act."
"Yes, Mr. Lipton." Ron knew all about the new bill that passed five days ago, supported by lunatics and other lunatics with deeper pockets. Just scare tactics for rich people, they said. "Did someone send you a notice?"
"Oh no, nothing like that." Lipton replied as he struggled to say the next words. "I, uh, want to send a notice myself."
"Alright..." Ron trailed off as he acknowledged the awkwardness. His mild-mannered client wasn't usually the type who wanted someone taken care of. Worst he could do making insider investments for home security. "Uh, who are you sending it to?"
"Ed Hurley! I want to send it to Ed Hurley!" Lipton replied with exasperation as Ron was stunned by his tone. Ron knew Ed well. His client's business rival was someone he dealt with from the numerous legal battles that were going on. It was becoming personal. Too personal. Lipton took a deep breath before returning to his mild tone. "Sorry I shouted, Ron. It's either him or me first. Do or die."
Ron sighed. "Alright Mr. Lipton, as long as you do a week before then you're oka-."
"No, no, that's the thing." Lipton interjected. "I just learned that Ed's going to be flying somewhere exactly a week from now. It's a pretty long flight but he's gonna cross the International Date Line and the date is gonna go back and then it won't be a week from now and -"
"Settle down Mr. Lipton". Ron sighed again. Mr. Lipton's panicking had often made his job more difficult, even if he does pay handsomely. "I got a copy of the Information Act myself. Says here in **Section 55c:** ***Persons who fails to inform the affected party at least 168 hours before an act of homicide are liable to criminal prosecution.***"
"I don't follow." Lipton replied as Ron placed his palm on his forehead in mild frustration.
"Okay, you see that it says 168 hours right?" Ron explained as he would a five-year old. "It doesn't matter what line he crosses. If he flies 164 hours before you send the notice and he lands 5 hours after, you add them up. 164 plus 5 is 169, also known as over one week."
"What about the notice?" Lipton asked with a desperate tone. "I send him a letter, then he wises up, cancels his flight, and hides somewhere. Then I'm screwed and the law goes after me."
Ron began flipping through some pages as Lipton waited with anguish. "Okay Mr. Lipton. **Section 21b:** ***A person shall be criminally punished in the event in which a written notice for an act by said person directed at the affected recipient has not be fulfilled*****.**"
Lipton paused in confusion as his lawyer realized he overestimated his client's legal literacy. "Written notice." Ron explained. "Written. Notice. Section 21b doesn't talk about what happens if you just make a verbal threat with a phone call. You kill him, good. You fail to kill him, I could argue your way out and you'll probably be off on a technicality."
"You sure?" Lipton asked with a puzzled face. "Wouldn't it be safer to just write to him anyway?"
"Mr. Lipton, I want to be frank." Ron replied as politely as he could. "You're not going to kill someone being a law-abiding citizen. You're calling me right now to ask if you have a way out and I've just handed you a hastily written law with holes like Swiss cheese just waiting to be exploited. So before those loaded politicians have time to rethink their legacy and flip, the window of opportunity is still open. Just call him now. And as you said. Do or die."
Ron waited for an answer as his client did some soul searching. It was fine being paid by the hour but it was also two in the morning. Finally, Lipton replied, "Alright, I'll call him soon. I'll find a guy to take care of business. Thanks Ron, you've been of great help-" Ron quickly hung up as he went straight to bed. He's done his work for the night.
…
The next morning, Ron woke from his late slumber as his alarm made a deafening ring. Picking up his phone and scrolling through the news, an article piqued his interest. It wasn't so much the headline as it was the featured image of his client's home in smoldering ashes with Lipton perishing in it. Police believed it was a faulty wire that his client never bothered to maintain. But Ron knew that Ed was behind it. After all, Lipton's phone lines were already wired with incendiaries, ready to activate as soon as he called Ed's number. Just as planned.
As Ron examined the massive cheque in his drawer, he laid on his bed, grinning about that loophole among loopholes.
*There's no need to notify an accident.* | Nathan slowly sipped water from his bottle and then checked his watch, 15 minutes to go. His fingers drummed restlessly on the m416 laying on his lap. 'Now is not the time to be impatient' he thought to himself, he has waited 7 years for it, a few more minutes is not much.
He knew it may be a suscide mission, that's why even if the rule is there, not many people use it. 7 days is just too much to prepare for someone who you know is coming and coming alone without any back up. Most of the time the aggressor who put out the notice to murder would die in the altercation. But he is not afraid, for a long time now..
He picked up the photograph on the dashboard of his car, the edges a little crinkled, colours a little faded showing the effect of years on it. A woman and blonde haired boy playing with sand on the beach smiled back at him from the photograph, a blue surfboard laying beside them. It seems like ages ago since he clicked the photo, he started teaching Aaron surfing on that day, and boy was he pumped!He felt the familiar lump on his throat, a trickle of tear slowly coming down his cheek.
Nathan angrily wiped the tears away and took a deep breath. Not tonight! He doesn't want his hand to shake. They are long gone, just because a man named Phillip Green misread a traffic signal and rammed his car with theirs and tonight he is going to kill Phillip or die trying. His wristwatch beeped, It's time to go. He fired up the engine of his Ford which he himself turned into a crude armoured vehicles with reinforced steel plates. His pushed the gas paddle down as he zoomed through the streets clutching the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are turning white. He was expecting him to be ready for him with people and guns but as his suburban house is coming closer he realised there is no one guarding the outside.
Nathan crashed through the fence and rammed his car to a stop near the side door of the house. He has envisioned this so many times. With his gun ready he jumped out, there was no one to be seen. Cautiously he moved forward while crouching, gun raised. And kicked on the door which flew open easily. "Not locked at all! What is his plan!" He thought to himself but kept pushing forward, his heart almost bursting out of his chest. And right there in the study Phillip was sitting calmly.
Nathan moved closer, sure! It is Phillip only. He seemed to have grown older from the last time they have met, in the church where his lawyer proved that it was just a misjudgment, a misjudgment! For a moment the two man stared at each other before Nathan spoke, "You took everything from me Phillip! You made me an animal...", His voice filled with loathe. It is true, he tried to move on wirh life, but just couldn't. "But now you are going to fucking die..." Nathan turned off the safety of his gun.
Phillip just looked at him, a small smile appearing on his face. "Then do it! I was waiting for an week for you, free me from my pain and guilt". He whispered as he just sit on his chair not even putting his hand up. "But is that going to bring back your wife and kid?". Suddenly Nathan could see it, just a poor frail old guy . His mind screaming at him. "Finish it! This is the man that took the life of your wife and kid." Suddenly he heard a gasp and a cry "Phillip!"
His wife is looking at Nathan with pleading eyes almost begging. And behind her is a little girl , hiding behind her mom. "please don't, please I beg you!" She continued to pkead. Nathan sinked to his knees and first time in 7 years, he actually cried, all the moments flashing through his eyes. He did not know till when he cried but when he looked up the little girl was standing there, with a frown whispering "Are you all right?". Nathan nodded and looked up at her, "Do you know how to surf?" He asked. | 2020-12-03T08:06:00 | 2020-12-03T07:41:05 | 203 | 14 |
[WP] People often attribute your success as a superhero to your power. However the truth is the power itself sucks, you just learnt how to use it well despite its limitations over the years, as one power stealing villain painfully learnt | I was being tailed and I knew it. As I dodged between rooftop gardens and air conditioners in a zigzag across town, I could hear the familiar wingbeats of my recently-deceased colleague Whitewing growing closer and closer. I was scared. I knew it was, without a shadow of a doubt, Zipper, a geneticist turned serial killer turned superhero hunter. He had killed more than a few up-and-comers and had taken swings at bigger heroes recently, with Whitewing being his first A-list takedown. I was very glad to be as fast as I was, as it gave me time to think back on the warnings I had been given by my liaison. He was smart, and had a suite of powers he could manipulate, but it took him a second to switch between them and he had to stab you with a needle to steal yours.
I didn’t hear the little puff of air just prior to the sting in my neck. That was a great plan, I thought to myself. Too bad I didn’t think of it before he shot me with a weird little dart that broke off and fell away for him to pick up. I continued to run until I heard the wingbeats pause, and then I stopped and turned to wait for him to catch up.
Catch up he did, though it took him a second. I stood on a wide, flat expanse of roof as he approached from in front of me. His weird, flappy Frankenstein coat flapped in the wind as a gigantic pair of angelic wings folded back behind him and disappeared with an unpleasant crunch. He waved at me and upended a little bottle into his mouth with a flourish.
“Your strength and speed will make a helpful addition to my power, Prestige, you thick-headed jock.” He spat.
LI don’t want to fight you, Doctor Haus. You need to turn yourself in and we can get you help for your psychosis.” I said with a carefully measured tone. I really didn’t want to fight him. I had no idea if his little potion trick would even work with my powers.
“Of course you don’t want to fight! Why would a rabbit want to fight a wolf?!” He cackled back, seeming to revel in his new strength. “I don’t need to turn myself in! I’ve done no wrong! All I need is to further my research and to advance Human evolution!”
He charged at me then, and I met him in the middle of the roof. Well, it was more like an 80-20 split, with him being very, very surprised at his lack of superhuman speed. I knocked him flat on his back with a clothesline to the upper chest, and heard the wind leave his lungs.
“Oh my God, I think you broke my back.” He said with a pitiable wheeze.
“No, you are fine.” I said with a smile as I jogged around him in a little circle.
He frowned and rolled onto his side.
“You could have done a little more research, Doctor. If you actually knew how my power worked, you would have just gone to the cops or fought me with someone else’s power.” I pushed him onto his back with my foot and slapped handcuffs onto his wrists.
He struggled against them immediately. “No other power would do! You are the strongest man alive! You won contests of strength since you were a child! Your existence justifies my research into supergenes!”
I pulled him to his feet and tossed a small device, a GPS beacon, onto the ground nearby. “My strength isn’t my superpower, Doc.”
He stammered and stomped on my foot. “Y-yes! You are the next step in evolution; a man without limits!”
“Yes, Doctor. No limits, but the same starting point and a harsh, authoritative household that made me strong. My power is healing. My muscles tear and heal back stronger in seconds where a normal man would have to wait to a few days to see a small change. My parents were ecstatic to have a super for a child. The doctor helped them put me on a strict exercise regime I was old enough to walk. My power is only great because it has been exploited for years.”
He hung his head. “That is... disappointing. Perhaps I could compose a new theory with this information.”
The helicopter swung low and landed quickly as a pair of agents jogged up and grabbed the doctor under his arms. One also stuck a needle in his shoulder and I saw him tense and then relax.
“Perhaps, Doctor.” I said and waved as the helicopter swiveled and shot back across the night sky. Finally, the serum they gave him cancelled out his power, and I felt the bones in my shattered right arm begin to knit back together. I fell to my knees and clutched my hands together as the horrible, familiar twisting sensation returned. After a moment, it faded, and I looked around through reddened vision. A pigeon was staring at me from the top of a railing, almost with a concern in its beady little eyes.
“Yeah man, that fucking hurt.” I said around gasping breaths. | The Overlord stood suspended in the air over the city. He tightened his thin white leather gloves and smiled his cruel smile. He dove through the air towards the city, the wind rippling his long dark hair around his face obscuring his features. Despite the speed of his descent he was able make his landing look as casual as you or I may step off a curb.
“It is over, you have been defeated, Blink.” As he approached my battered body I watched in horror as he removed one of his gloves gently and his almond colored hand transformed into a meat syringe. I attempted to struggle to my feet, desperately wanting to get away. My body failed me, my legs had the strength of wet noodles and I couldn't get to my feet.
“Now, now Mr.Blink. Don’t be scared, you'll just be another part of my collection.” The overlord lightly tapped his now syringe looking hand with great affection. He reached out, the smell of oil he used to keep his gloves supple slid inside my nose increasing the dizziness I already felt. I felt his hand on the top of my head and pathetically attempted to smack it away with no success. The Overlord reared his arm back and drove his syringe into my chest. There was no pain initially, just the penetrating feeling of having something foreign enter my body without my consent. Then came the pain. I small trickle at first that roared into a great flood of pain centering around the point of the syringe poking my organs. A wet slurping sound proceeded the Overlord removing himself.
“At last, I will finally be able to teleport. No one will be able to catch me ever again.” The Overlord started cackling, but his laughter petered out when my own laughter could be heard. The Overlord observed me closely as I finally gained my feet in front of him, the pain in my chest a dull ache now.
“Why don’t you go ahead and jump away Overlord? I clearly can’t stop you.” The Overlord flicked his wrist and the meaty hand syringe transformed back into his normal hand and he slipped a white leather glove back on. He was acting cautious, something in my words was holding him back. I drew my weapon, a large fan blade, and held it in front of me. The overlord threw his hands up in mock fear.
“Oh my Mr.Blink, I have no desire to get smacked across the bottom by your weapon.” He smiled his cruel smile and disappeared into nothing. As fast as I could I leaped forward and swung my fan blade down. I felt no resistance to my swing, but I flipped the blade over and saw a small red splash on the underside of the fan. A deep sigh of relief escaped my lips, the battle was over and I collapsed onto the ground in exhaustion. Civilians started to peek out from inside their buildings and bodegas. Not wanting to be questioned or blamed for the damage I activated my power. I felt myself growing very small, wings sprouted from my shoulder blades, extra arms from my ribcage. My vision shattered into thousands of tiny images coalescing into one singular image. I lept and flew away from the scene. No one turned their head to follow my movements except the stray cat that had wandered by to survey the scene. I gained altitude and escaped the scene before the cat could swat me down. The townsfolk were in awe.”
“Blink teleported away again! What if the overlord comes back?”
I laughed to myself as I landed on a window ledge, no one would see the overlord ever again since he was a small smear on my weapon now. A roar sounded behind me, and I turned to see a small child opening a window.
“Gross a Fly.” Was all I heard as a shadow appeared above me.
The young girl wiped the remains of the fly off of her hand and scampered to the kitchen to steal a cookie before dinner. | 2020-12-02T07:44:09 | 2020-12-02T07:17:43 | 186 | 100 |
[WP] The bride is having an affair with the best man. During his wedding speech the best man decides to see how heavily he can hint about it without anyone actually working it out. | I stood and tapped lightly on my glass until the room fell silent. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Most of you I know already, as friends or employees, but for those who I don't, my name is Peter. I have the honour of serving as best man, and I'd like to say a few words about the bride and groom on this joyful occasion."
"To his family, the groom is known as Richard, but to me he has always been my pal Dick. We've known each other all our lives, and Dick has always been my right-hand man. At school, at college, and then at the company I founded. Dick isn't just a friend, he's a part of me, and for the longest time, I didn't think any woman could make him happy. Then I met Christina."
"When Christina came to work for us, she was a wide-eyed innocent, fresh out of college. She lacked experience, and me and Dick had to whip her into shape. I'm afraid we had to ride her a little hard for a while. There was a lot of late nights and even a few weekends. There was a lot for her to take in, but she never said no. She would moan a bit, but she always came through in the end. Before long she had mastered the job, and since then she's excelled in every position we put her in."
"Now, Christina is a beautiful girl, and I'm sure every guy in the office noticed her. But right from the beginning, she only had eyes for my Dick here. I know she was a little intimidated at first. She's a petite girl and he's a big guy, but before long they were inseparable. It's wonderful to see her smile when she thinks about Dick, to see her face light up when she knows he's coming, and the love all over it when he does."
"And Dick, I know how happy Christina makes you. Whenever she's around you seem to stand up a little taller than you ever did before. I know you like to tease her occasionally, or to give her a harder time than she deserves, but I know that deep inside you only want to make her as happy as she makes you. And she's lucky to have you. You're strong and hardworking. You're handy around the house. Oh, and you're a great cook, old friend."
"Anyway, ladies and gentlemen, I won't take up any more of your time. I'll only reiterate that it gives me immense pleasure to see Christina and Dick together, and I look forward to that continued pleasure for many years to come." | I looked at Kate and winked subtly. I could tell she was nervous. She shouldn't have been, she should have known that it was as much in my interest as hers to keep our little "meetings" secret. No, the best thing for all of us was to do what was expected of us and maintain the status quo.
That being said, I couldn't resist a little fun. Looking down at my notes, a smile turned the corners of my mouth. They were all so stupid and this was my chance to tell them to their faces. They would never know unless they got a transcript of my speech, and probably not even then, idiots that they were.
Short and sweet, that was the goal. I tapped my knife on my champagne glass and rose.
"I'm sure you'll all agree that Kate is too good for Tom. Having said that, he's not a bad guy, just a little dumb sometimes. Sex is off-limits in this speech, I was told. With that in mind, I'll just say that Tom and Kate probably won't have the same rule tonight, am I right? Kate, you're a joy and delight to be around. You and Tom make a happy and beautiful couple. Fools rush in, the old song says, but love is what really matters."
I sat down and glanced at Kate. She looked relieved and grateful. She would show me just how grateful later, I'm sure. I smiled and nodded as I draped my arm around my wife's shoulders, just playing my part as the best man. | 2015-04-03T01:14:55 | 2015-04-02T22:59:09 | 214 | 18 |
[WP] Adrenaline is an evolutionary trait specific to Earth. When alien species are tired they sleep and not even a threat to their life will wake them. Which is why the pirates that boarded your spaceship are shocked to find you've not only jumped out of bed fully alert but are fighting back! | Vlurguk stopped up his ears with his multijointed manipulator appendages to drown out the sounds.
The horrible sounds, screaming, crying, vomiting, shoulder joints dislocating.
His crew were fleeing in terror from the enraged and quite suddenly awake and responsive human currently wringing his second in commands arm out of the socket.
Kithrik was screaming for mercy, their would be target had none.
With animalistic fury the human was breaking, smashing, throttling, dismembering his fellow pirates and he was powerless to stop it.
Vilurgians were physically weaker than humans, it took no more effort for a human to destroy a Vilurgian than it did to step on a mouse or caterpillar and crush it.
They'd expected the human to be...immobile during sleep.
Instead this one had risen from the sleeping platform with the shriek of a million hungry lurgats and *broken* the nearest of his crew in half.
*Then vomited on them*!
This unnerved Vlurguk and his crew, such displays of barbaric dominance were unknown to his kind.
As if that wasn't bad enough, another specimen of "human" came from the other direction while shouting in the gutteral human tongue "Dear? Are you okay? Wut the, I'll kill you all!"
Physically larger and wider than the nimble and graceful hragack of death decimating his men, this human was obviously bred for war and conquest!
It had already used one of his crew as a weapon to bludgeon several of his finest freebooters to quiescence.
He had to run, had to warn others.
Humans could rouse from sleep and do battle!
If only he could get back to his ship he'd blow the hatch and vent the human ship atmosphere!
Not to be, a rough large paw of a human hand grabbed him and yanked him off his feet.
"I'm wiped out, adrenaline shakes have started. Sorry dear" the smaller lithe human said, wiping battle grime from their smaller and deceptively delicate looking hands.
"Don't worry love, I have this."
And Vlurguk's world went black. | in the depth of space a single signal, sent from the center of the cosmos, begins a vibration
in the ensuing ripple of energy is the essence of being .......controlled by a force beyond comprehension
as the momentum builds a birth of awareness brings a release of sweat pouring from every possible location on the body
waking to the freaking light beings squeezing the life from me ....I explode into action
throwing caution to the solar wind and climbing over gravity....my intent is survival at a level below the animal in me
the core of who I AM is exposed as a force to be reckoned with ....the body is frail and limping to the metal storage of food and sustenance
in the form of carbohydrates to combat a blood glucose of 34 mg/dl ................taking sometimes 1/4 hour to infiltrate the system, a strong urge
to continue the battle is overwhelming and usually succumbed to
A life with type one diabetes is like living with Aliens of a syringe and insulin injections description
the battle will never be won ......yet will it go on with the help of Adrenaline
Leon | 2021-01-26T23:56:33 | 2021-01-26T23:40:39 | 326 | 10 |
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind. | You couldn't take a Ford-Mercedes on the colony ships.
You could take your children, all two of your spoiled brats that were allowed under the reproductive allowance. The Wilkins kids had shipped out the day before, and Lilian had watched them leave through the viewing port in the airlock to her habitation.
You could take a pet, if you had one, which the Wilkins's did because Pa said that Mr Wilkins was a big shot at the MUG, and could get the paperwork rubber stamped. When she was younger, and the Wilkins's little poodle had first come home. Lilian had once asked Pa if they could get a dog like the Wilkins's had, and Pa had looked so torn up that she'd never asked again and instead just stole puppy kisses from little Buster when nobody was supervising her cleaning work at the Wilkin's' habitation.
Pa said that you were allowed three cubic meters of baggage on the colony ships per person, or two for children under 12. When Lilian had asked how anyone could fill that much space, especially if you couldn't take your surface rover with you, Pa had laughed and said that every day when he was loading the cargo bays there was somebody trying to go over the limit. There was the man who was trying to take his whole hydroponic garden "just in case plants weren't growing outside yet", and the family who argued that each of their children needed the full three cubic meters because they had too many clothes (Lilian, who was wearing one of her two pairs of overalls, snorted in contempt), and the woman who wanted to bring her Ford-Mercedes surface rover anyway, because "it was the newest model".
"And the irony is," said Pa, as he tucked Lilian into the lower bunk, "that it wouldn't even be useful up there. You can't drive a rover down a highway."
But the Wilkins's had left their rover behind, and in a fit of unexpected magnanimity, Mr Wilkins had given the ignition code to Lilian on her last day working as their house maid. "It's got a few more decades left on it," he'd said, and echoing Pa's words, added, "Even if we did have space, rovers are for dead planets, not living ones."
But even dead planets needed caretakers, and Lilian had overheard one of the Wilkins kids saying at school that the "help" would need to stay behind just in case the Old World wasn't ready to support humans again, and began to deteriorate a second time. Just in case the humans that returned had to flee once again. "Not that such an eventuality is likely," Professor James had said, on his last day of teaching their class before taking his own place on a colony ship. "We now understand what our forebears did not - that a planet is a precious resource, once that must be safeguarded and not treated as a large garbage disposal."
The night after the Wilkins's had left, Lilian snuck over to their habitation, which was eleven times larger than the quarters that she shared with Pa. She didn't need to sneak, because she and Pa were now the only ones left in this habitat module, and in a few days they were to be consolidated into another location with others who'd been designated "mission critical staff" by MUG, while this module was left to be reclaimed by the dead red sands outside. But she snuck anyway, out of force of habit, and because it felt somehow naughty to be in the Wilkins's deserted quarters while they were on a colony ship thousands of miles up in space.
And mostly she snuck because little Tommy Wilkins owned a large telescope that was too big for his two cubic meters, and which was still set up in his bedroom. He'd let her look through it once, after she'd helped him with his history homework, and now she crept through the discarded belongings which lay scattered throughout the habitation and uncapped it.
She punched in a set of coordinates that she knew by heart, and as the server motors whirred she found herself looking at a sphere of blue and green and white. A living planet once again, after three centuries of remedial terraforming. Earth.
But not home. Home was here.
---
Back after a long hiatus. Old stories: [/r/jd_rallage](https://old.reddit.com/r/jd_rallage/) | I make my daily walk through the empty streets. A ritual I must complete.
I avoid the monsters let loose when everyone left. I think I hear someone I recognize, but it's just Kat, a neighbor who was also left behind. I ignore her, she never has anything good to say.
I approach the depot, the big scary building where I saw them last. I sneak in past the giant pipes and pooling water, past the moving fans and under the gate.
This is where they last were, when the ship's took them away. My stomach aches with hunger, my feet hurt from walking on the hot road, but my heart aches more. I think about the last time I see them:
>"Don't worry. We just have to just for a little while. We'll be back I promise."
>Tears are in their eyes and I don't understand. I look at them and I don't understand. Of course they will be back, they always come back.
>"We can't fit you on the ship... That's what they said. It's only for the big people." And they start really crying now. Choking on tears and holding on to me.
>I try to reassure them. To tell them that it's ok, I'll be fine until they come back. They don't have to worry. But no words come out.
>Someone said something loud. A lot of other people are sad too. Or angry. Or have a lot of emotions. I don't care about them. "I love you. I'll miss you and oh my god it's not fair I love you." they say.
>I look at them and they know I love them. But I don't show it. I feel like something is wrong. Like I did something bad. What are they doing? Why are they going away? They should not be going. They should not be sad. They should stay and be happy. It would be good to stay. They will be happy if they stay and we are together.
>Now desperate, I stand up and wave like they showed me. Maybe if I show them how much I learned they will come back and they can be happy again. I shout at them. I want them to come back.
>the youngest tries to leave the line of people, but the oldest stops her. She turns to me and is crying more than I ever saw her. "No! You have to stay. We'll be back soon I -- I promise. You stay! Stay! Be a good boy. I know you are a good boy so stay! I love you. I love you -- stay! Good boy, that's a good boy. I love you. Bye!"
>She is pulled into the ship, and I stay. The ship moves up with a sound so loud it hurts my ears and light so bright it hurts my eyes and a smoke so strong it hurts my nose but I stay.
I put my head down because my heart is tired and let loose a sigh into the dust. The memory of them makes my heart feel good and I forget about my stomach. My tail swings left and the right, and then stops. And I stay. | 2021-06-30T08:08:47 | 2021-06-30T07:19:35 | 555 | 306 |
[WP] Four years ago you opened a fortune cookie that simply read "Don't panic", and since that day you gained notoriety for your unbelievable acts of bravery. You just opened a fortune cookie that reads "Reach for the stars". | "What's it say?"
"C'mon, Micah, don't leave us hanging."
"Dude, lemme just-"
I pulled my hand away as Jimmy lunged for it, and he toppled to the ground amid roars of laughter from the other guys.
"Bruh." Jimmy blinked balefully up at me from his position on the floor. "Some brother you are. Bet something goes wrong tomorrow, and you're gonna regret this being our last encounter."
I laughed, rolling my eyes, and helped him back up, but something sat in my stomach, twinging it just a bit.
*Reach for the stars.*
Seemed like an appropriate fortune for an astronaut about to take off on his third mission, this one reaching past the upper atmosphere, past the moon, onto Mars. Only trouble was, I wasn't the astronaut. My twin brother was.
"Think this one might have been for you," I said, finally handing Jimmy the paper as he settled back down in his seat.
"Reach for the stars, eh? Technically Mars isn't that far out. I think I'm gonna have to go on a few more flights before we're looking to leave our little system." He laughed, more or less good-naturedly, and the rest joined in.
We'd surprised him by taking him out the night before because this was gonna be the big one. No paltry week or two in space. This one was going to last three years. Seven months there, six to fully set up the base, and then another three months to ensure the base was compatible with long-term human life.
If that succeeded, NASA would send out another mission, this one with thirty-two people selected to man the base. They'd arrive after another seven months, and Jimmy and his small group would spend the next six months onboarding the long-term travelers to their new home for the next decade.
After that, Jimmy and his squad would come home.
I knew it all by heart. I had it all memorized. Jimmy and I had both dreamt of the stars since we knew what they were. We both went to school, studying various branches of engineering to get us there, him mechanical, me chemical. We both graduated with flying colors, we both pursued Master's degrees in astrophysics for good measure. Midway through our Ph.D. applications, an opening arose for a trip to the ISS. We both applied.
Jimmy got accepted.
I got diagnosed.
Diagnosed with what? It doesn't really matter, but if you must know, asthma, arthritis in my fingers, and bipolar. Doesn't matter that they're treated, doesn't matter that they're under control. In a sense, I get it. What if I can't get access to my medication? What if we come on hard times? What if we get additionally sick? With thousands of applications, I was an autoreject.
It was at this same Chinese place, actually, that the boys celebrated when Jimmy got his acceptance. I promised them I didn't mind, but I could feel a creeping terror rise in me every time we'd toast him.
Over a decade of work. A lifetime of dreaming. Gone gone gone. Wasted. Useless. I was worse than nothing. A failure that managed to dip below zero on worth. I told them I didn't mind, but I did. I was on the brink of a meltdown, watching their smiles.
Somehow I made it through dinner. Made it through dessert. With every call of 'hey, let's share X. Not every day your buddy gets accepted as an astronaut' my eyes burned with battled tears, my heart picked up, my head spun.
I was about to sprint from the table when the fortune cookies came. The last thing I wanted was to eat more, but I had to be game for my brother. So I cracked it open, popped the cookie in my mouth, and read my fortune.
*Don't panic.*
Jimmy might have gotten the stars while I was relegated to watch, but that didn't mean it was all for nothing. I got to watch.
And watch I did, from a front-row seat in Mission Control. I could take the L with grace and got myself a position helping the astronauts from afar. I do a damn good job, too. In four short years, I've shot up the ranks. I've become renowned for my cool head in times of disaster, and on the return from the moon landing, it was my levelheadedness that got Jimmy and the rest back to Earth alive.
Alive.
I was a lifesaver. I didn't panic. I never panic.
Except now, as we head back from the Chinese restaurant, my brain is whirring. Could the fortune have meant something special? Reach for the stars? Was it telling me to stop being complacent on Earth, try for more?
Or was I reading too much into it?
"Alright buddy, into bed." My roommate, Ed, who'd been at the restaurant with us, helped me sling my brother into his bed, turning him sideways and leaving him a glass of water. I'd stayed sober, drinks don't go well with my bipolar meds I've learned, and as I watched him mumble off to sleep, I got a pang of misgiving.
He'd be fine come tomorrow, right?
My gut wasn't wrong. Come the next morning, I heard Jimmy's alarm clock go off, followed by a series of swears and groans. I rushed in, just in time to see him vomit into a trash can.
"We gotta delay the launch," he slurred.
"Dude, what the hell?" It wasn't a kind or helpful thing for me to say, and it wasn't like me to lecture when there was an emergency, but I kinda couldn't help it. What had he been thinking? Yes three years would be a long time but surely he could have shown a little more restraint last night.
Or we could have taken him out another night.
Or I could have used my judgment and advised him to lay off.
Why had we chosen last night? Why had any of us let him have so many? He'd been so anxious about the flight that no one had wanted to say anything.
At least, that's what I told myself. That's what I kept repeating to myself as I helped him shower, dress, and hoisted him into the car on the way out.
"We gotta delay it," he muttered again, clutching the cold cloth to his head. "Can't go up like this."
"You can't delay shit," I told him, voice even as I gripped the steering wheel. Fortunately, launch wouldn't be until 20:00 tonight, so he had time to sober up. I glanced over at him and sighed. "Do you... would it help if I did some of the early press conferences for you? I could probably pass as you. At least, for an hour or two."
That suggested sealed my fate. That and the unread email in my box, the unchecked messages on my phone, urgently informing me that, for weather reasons, liftoff had been pushed up by twelve hours.
I never panic. Never freeze. Never lose my cool. I'm thorough and collected. I don't make these mistakes.
Somewhere, deep in my stomach, as I navigated through Jimmy's duties, something told me that this was what was meant to be. I had no choice here. The same way I kept my head during the most panicked of emergencies. It's like something else takes over.
Something else took over for me on that day. It guided me through the team's briefings. It let out the answers I knew, the ones I'd memorized, to every question or check tossed my way. It made me turn off my phone before any texts or calls could come from Jimmy, who I knew was sitting in the bathroom, feeling miserable.
He *couldn't* make it today.
It had to be me.
Not until we were all fastened in and the time was ticking did I sort of snap out of it. Maybe it was the call that Micah Blain had been absent from his position. Maybe it was the urgent snap of 'we can't delay this any further because of pointless complications,' the one that dismissed my position as a pointless complication.
Or maybe it was just the ship's rumbling.
I couldn't keep this up for three years. I probably wouldn't be able to keep it up for a few hours, not once Jimmy stumbled out of the bathroom, asking if they'd successfully delayed the launch.
What I could do, was keep my cool, and not panic. In fact, that's all I could do, as the countdown reached zero and we began to move.
Don't panic.
Reach for the stars.
What had I gotten myself into?
___
Read more stories at r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide | Mom said that the fortune cookie knows.
Mom said that *don't panic* is wonderful advice, showing the fortune cookie **really** knows.
The words were engraved into Yelena's brain. How long ago was it? Fifteen years, twenty? She was but a child back then. Yet, for the first time, in a life so mysterious and hard to fathom, she had found a reef in the middle of the storm to cling to.
The holy cookie said not to panic, ergo, Yelena the child decided it would never happen.
She ate it in one bite.
When Tiago the annoying kid threw a ball at her face for fun at school, she did not budge. Instead, she waited until the pause was over, asked to go to the toilets, and hid a sharp rock in Tiago's shoe.
When the teacher told the class they might fail if they didn't get better results, she decided to go against the grain, forego the complaining and crying and only achieve perfect marks. She also sued the teacher and got him locked up for sexual harassment for daring to put her faith in the cookie to the test.
When the special forces trainer told her no woman had managed the entry test, she bluffed them all. So did she when she never once winced or failed to impress during the hellish training.
All of it, she did for the fortune cookie.
The Fortune Cookie... a world in its taste, wisdom in its words. One day, Yelena would descend the stairs from the white house and preach the truth, casting down false gods and prophets. She would proudly exclaim:
"130 grams of flour, 115 grams of sugar, 70 grams butter, 3 egg whites and vanilla aroma-"
And the police would come and whisk her away, trying to keep the world in the dark. But believers would come, get her out, cast the dark protectors into the ground, and beg her to carry her wisdom further.
"-Eggs with vanilla, beat it and add flour, sugar and melted butter. Dispose them in little circles, put them five minutes in the oven at 180° Celsius - not Fahrenheit, language of the false prophets - add the message to the center and fold the biscuit."
Men and women will see the light, go home, and cook.
But until then, Yelena would have to wait, until the fortune cookies told her to write a holy book.
Sometimes, she was told to open her heart, so she got herself a boyfriend. When the cookie opened and advised her to be careful, she dropped the boyfriend if he had been fearless like her, buried him if not.
Men lived and died at the whim of the holy cookie. But it was sexist. So Yelena became bisexual, because there was no reason women should escape judgment. And the cookie said it was better to be open-minded anyway.
Here she was, successful at her job, impressing the crowd with her Olympic calm and impressive body, eating at a Chinese restaurant. The same from her youth, where she opened the godly crust for the first time. Like any other good day when she needed some direction, she got one for dessert.
On it, the simple, unavoidable truth of the all-powerful fortune cookie.
*Reach for the stars.*
Thus Yelena's fate was written. She folded the paper, threw it away, and ate the cookie in one bite.
She earned a doctorate in medical science for the sake of having a doctorate, and became and astronaut. Best among the best, she got sent at the ripe age of forty to the international space station.
Sadly, she did not come closer to her goal. The ISS wasn't the stars, she wasn't on them, touching them, reaching for them. Humanity wasn't good enough for her goal, the meek attempts and small technological jumps too pitiful for Yelena's ambition.
Mad scientists on the other hand... she found one. Isaiah. He had lost his doctorate, had then been debauched to work on viruses and bio-weapons for bombers who ended up firing him, as he had proven too insane even for terrorists. This man could not work for the worst among the worst, for his love for science went beyond concepts like good, evil, or ethics. The perfect man for Yelena.
"You will help me reach for the stars," was all she said.
What it meant, Isaiah did not know, it did not stop him from working on it. Secretly, he built the device, and the rocket. A shoddy rocket, compared to the NASA, likely to kill the occupant. But death did not bother Yelena, only the stars.
Tirelessly, they gathered materials to a lone piece of desert, until the payload was ready. They had not exchanged words beyond the first meeting, nor did they have to.
30... 29... 28...
For secrecy, Yelena broke Isaiah's neck before entering the hatch.
10... 9... 8...
In the name of the holy cookie.
3... 2... 1...
Ignition.
The launch nearly crushed Yelena against the seat, blood ran down her nose. But meter by meter, she left the sand, the continent, and soon was out into the orbit. Destination, a cluster of stars.
As the rocket went, she prepared the device. Both a super-computer and a bomb.
Everything was ready, the journey was spent in humble prayers, quiet contemplation of space and remembrance of all the fortune she had read.
Stars, and Yelena in the middle of it.
She pushed the red button.
Light blinded her. Her body disintegrated, threatening to kill her mind alongside it. She held, through faith, through discipline.
*We will eat you.*
No, you will not.
*You have no hold, no power, no meaning here. We will eat you.*
I came for the stars.
*You are food.*
And I will reach for them.
*You are food.*
You are irrelevant. Only the stars matter.
*We are not irrelevant, you-*
You are as I say, and what does not matter has no place to be.
*We-*
And they were no more.
What Eldritch beings Yelena had met, they did not expect a human to ignore them in favor of the message brought by fortune cookies.
She was about to be eaten. Yelena thought them into non-existence.
In the white in-between, she thought herself into the stars, as the stars, all of them.
The universe held its breath, the all-dimensional heartbeat stopped.
And then, a voice booms through the endless space and time, reaching the ears of all beings and beings who were, who are and who will be.
***I am the stars. I am the void and the light of creation.***
Yelena has ascended, as the fortune cookie wanted. From her omniscient form, she glimpses the greatest secret of all.
Earth is a fortune cookies. The mother of fortune cookies. It is the final revelation.
Like any good fortune cookie, she splits earth open.
The core implodes, sending magma bursts into space. Cities drown in fire, in water, the ground bursts open and swallows all, continents break under the strain.
The red and orange glow is a celebration of her transcendence, the final salute, the ultimate fortune cookie telling Yelena in no uncertain terms that there is nothing more that can be taught to her.
***I thank you, you gave me all, and you bid me to go, go forth, and be. I shall honor the guiding light that have been all the cookies.***
Yelena ate earth in one bite. | 2021-08-24T10:34:15 | 2021-08-24T09:25:45 | 637 | 137 |
[WP] After the bombs dropped and society rebuilt itself, only one movie survived into the new world. This movie became the basis for the religion in this new society. | "One more story before we go to bed?", my younglings pleaded.
I finally give in to the young ones cries and begin the tale of the death and rebirth of our world.
"We know very little of the pre-birth stage of our civilization. What we do know comes from ancient tales and what the oracles taught us. The pre-birth world was one of constant strife and suffering. Wars raged perpetually, while hunger and disease ravaged the population.
The final blows to our world came from the great destroyers. These men wielded the might of the stars and used their great influence to develop a peace of sorts. However, this peace was fleeting. They grew envious of each others influence and material possessions. The envy grew until only destruction could alleviate their suffering.
The destroyers let forth the rapture of the stars and unleashed ruin upon one another. The small pockets of civilization that remained, turned to scavenging and barbarism for survival. The great purge lasted for generations until all that remained were the forgotten.
The forgotten fell upon an ancient tomb of our once proud civilization. They were able to harness the power of the stars again, only this time for peaceful means. The power they gained unleashed the oracles. The oracles were benevolent beings that were able to encase themselves in a knowledge disc.
Although we could not interact directly with the oracles, we could learn from them. And the forgotten learned much. The oracles taught us of the pre-birth age, of the power of the destroyers and of the potential of our species for good.
We were able to use this new found inspiration to rebuild our dying planet and out of it's ashes raised forth a beacon of light in the darkness.
You, and in fact all of us, are direct descendants of both the destroyers and the forgotten. We must never forget our past and we must not underestimate our burden. We have much to accomplish to reach the pinnacles that the oracles have shown us. However, if you follow the golden rules then we shall prevail. Do you remember the golden rules?"
The young ones could not answer because they had fallen asleep during my tale. I look to their faces and see the potential of the oracles in them. I gently kiss their foreheads and recite a prayer to the oracles. It ends like I was taught, "Be excellent to each other, and party on." | The time had come for Daniel to choose.
It was his 13th name day. He would choose today whether to join the Silent Brethren...Or the Truthspeakers.
The choice would affect the rest of his life permanently. The two Orders had a friendly rivalvry going - but that was not the thing he was worried about.
It was the permanence. If he chose the Silent Brethren, he would only be allowed to speak once every three or so years. And then, only a choice sentence or three.
On the other hand, the Truthspeakers were supposed to talk almost constantly. Every moment filled with chatter. Only those with a steel will would be able to keep sane.
***Later***
Daniel sat in silence. The box in front of him held his official vestments. The point of no return had come, and gone.
The ceremonial beanie with the blonde wig hair attached would be his to wear until his own could grow out. The oversized t-shirt and baggy pants fit surprisingly well, and the yellow coat fit snugly over them. The razor and shaving tools would be his constant companions - after all, only the Silent Brethren were allowed beards.
As soon as Daniel had donned his Truthspeaker clothes, he headed towards the door. His brethren - or "Homies" would be waiting for him, and for the ceremonial feast.
Today, Daniel was truly a man.
***"SNOOCH TO THE NOOCH, FUCKERS!"***
| 2014-12-08T15:09:39 | 2014-12-08T15:03:30 | 66 | 16 |
[WP] A vampire takes pity on a stranded time-traveller, granting them the gift of immortality so that they may yet live to see their family and friends once again in the distant future. | The long-haired man fell to his hands and knees at the foot of the altar.
“My…family,” he cried, “my friends. They’re all…gone.”
“No, not gone.”
The long-haired man spun around, surprised by the sudden voice. “W-w-who said that?”
“I did.”
A shadowy figure stood at the back of the church, hovering right at the edge of darkness.
“Explain yourself. What do you mean they aren’t gone?”
The figure glided along the outside of the room toward the altar, never venturing completely into the light. “They are not gone. Quite the opposite, in fact. They are yet to be.”
“B-but they won’t be alive for 5000 years. To them, I’ll be nothing but a memory.”
“Yes, one of the unfortunate side effects of time travel. I’ve seen it happen many times before”
The long-haired man hung his head low.
The figure checked its nails. “Although, there is a way to see your family again.”
The long-haired man looked up. “See them again? How? Explain yourself!”
“I should warn you; it comes at a terrible cost.”
“Whatever it is, I’ll pay it. Just tell me how I can see my family again.”
“You become like me.” The figure stepped into the light and opened its mouth, revealing two long fangs and eyes darker than coal.
The long-haired man staggered back, collided with a table, then picked up a crucifix.
The figure laughed. “If you don’t give it a rest with the hostilities, you can forget me helping you see your family again.”
“What could you possibly have to offer?”
“I can make you like me.”
“A demon?”
“A vampire. Immortal. I’ve lived for thousands of years and I’ll live for thousands more. Think of it: You could assume a new identity and live amongst the humans up until the point you send yourself back in time. Then you simply pick up where you left off. Albeit, with a few changes…”
They circled around a credence table. Each time the vampire leaned forward; the long-haired man thrust the crucifix toward him.
“How do you know so much about time travelers, demon?”
“As it so happens you’re not the first traveler I’ve come across. I’ve had such a long and interesting life. And I do take pity on you poor, unfortunate souls.”
The figure tapped its fingers together. “Become like me. Become a vampire, obtain eternal life, and you will one day see your family again. This I promise you.”
After a long pause, the long-haired man spoke. “What’s the catch?”
“I may have need of your...services throughout the year. But nothing that will prevent you from meeting your family again. This I promise you.”
After a long pause, the long-haired man spoke. “Why should I trust you?”
“Because if you don’t, you’ll never see your family again.”
Reluctantly, the long-haired man lowered the crucifix. “Very well. Do it.”
“Wonderful. Simply tilt your head to the side and expose your neck. There will be a moment of pain, then it will be done.”
With a flick of his head, the long-haired man tossed his glorious mane aside.
The figure hunched over his shoulder. “Oh, and I almost forgot. You’ll need a name.”
“I have a name. Hariflorb DX03.”
The figure rolled its eyes. “Hariflorb DX03 is NOT a common name in the 1890s. You’ll need a NEW name. A name that will let you blend in, and live amongst the humans, unnoticed."
The long-haired man thought for a moment. “In that case, you can call me Keanu.
“Keanu?”
“Yes. Keanu Reeves.”
The figure scratched its chin. "Yes. I like it. Truly a name befitting an immortal."
He clasped Keanu's head in his hands, then bit into his neck. Behind the stained glassed window behind the altar, thunder boomed.
\---
Thanks for reading! If anyone has any criticisms, feedback or tips on things I could improve, please let me know!
Hope you enjoy! Subscribe to [https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/](https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/) for more | I never expected to meet a vampire, not in a million years. Then again, I didn't expect to find myself stuck in time a thousand years back. The darkness and what waited in it was far more terrifying centuries ago, when its natural enemy was a scarce resource gated by time and fuel.
It was horrifying. But it was also alluring. For the darkness held the unknown: as one who specializes in delving straight into this sort of thing, evident from my current predicament, every inch of my body itched to go past the veil of gloom, and find out what was really lying underneath.
Didn't take long. I was trapped and stranded, yes, but being held in the presence of a vampire was more akin to being bound by a straitjacket spell, grasping me tightly with a hundred locks and refusing to let me go.
"Oh, child," Clarence said, voice velvety smooth, yet layered with kinks and threats. "What a terrible story you weave."
"It is," I gulped. It was all so utterly fascinating, but the tremble in my voice and knees were ample reminders of what stood before me.
"Do not worry, child," Clarence chuckled. "I am only here to help."
"Help?"
"Help, of course. There is no way for you to get back, is there? Your futuristic machine lies broken and bloodless," the vampire smiled, revealing those well-used fangs. "Unable to get on its feet again."
"That is true," I admitted. "It's not like I can just find a flux synthesizer by farming, can I?"
"Thus, I propose something. You can see your family and friends again one thousand years later, child," Clarence said. "If you accept my offer."
Every time I gulped, I could feel Clarence tracing the flow of blood in my tense neck, straining upright. I dreaded to ask, but I did anyway.
"How?"
"Simple, child. By becoming my child," Clarence said. "Let me sire you."
"As a vampire?" I cried. "But..."
"Ah. Desperate times call for desperate measures, don't you think?" Clarence's eyes shone and sparkled, gemstones in the dark.
Desperation flooded my heart like the adrenaline that coursed through my veins. I shouldn't.
I really shouldn't.
"Let's do it," I said. "Bring on the thirst. I just want to see them again."
Clarence smiled, a grin wider than the Cheshire Cat. He approached, and his hand wrapped around mine with alarming deftness and shocking strength. This was certainly not his first rodeo, and will almost definitely not be last.
And that's when I realised: this was all a game to me. Clarence could have easily overpowered me, anytime he wanted. He could have outlasted me, no matter which corner of the Earth I went to. If seduction didn't work, raw overpowering would.
"Friends and family, eh? Soon, you will have more brothers and sisters than you've ever had," it laughed. "In a thousand years... we shall see, ah?"
Bared fangs punctured skin, draining not only my life force, but the reasons I wanted to be alive ebbed away as well, slowly but surely...
---
r/dexdrafts | 2020-12-21T10:52:21 | 2020-12-21T10:19:05 | 39 | 16 |
[WP] Your Galactic zoo just received a shipment of 24 humans. You have to build a habitat base on very little information. | "Wow they like to mate, a lot," said Gorgax.
"What is Pizza, and why is there a hole in the center," asked another.
"It is called a donut, and is a breakfast food," replied Gorgax.
"And he is pushing his genitals through it for what reason," asked another junion member of the department.
"Oh no! She lacks the ability to pay," stated another.
"Then she should not have ordered, wait, she appears to be bargaining for the pizza," replied a third.
Then everyone groaned, again. No one walked away though. Despite how grotesque it all was, everyone was fascinated with the human mating habits.
There was a pizza delivery outfit in the gift shop. The gift shop they had only built because it was something out of one of the human sit coms.
Gorgax sighed. There had been over ten thousand hours of video files about the human social structure based on something called "How I met your Mother". A 'set' had been constructed and everything had been ready when Blorf found the hidden video files, and there had been far more viewable hours on those.
So many more viewable hours.
"What are they doing now?" asked another junion scientist.
Gorgax sighed, "When a human male love a human female, and her twin sister, he will find a shorter male wearing tussled shoes and a person with a camera. They will all go to an ice cream parlor and..." He sighed. It was the 30th time he'd had to give the explication today.
So the new habitat had been created based on those videos. Those terrible terrible videos. Gorgax was no prude, but no place on the human body was off limits. They did things that were so depraved it was beyond anything his advanced mind could comprehend.
"Are those the twins," asked another.
"Sometimes the twins wear wigs, so they are not the twins," replied Gorgax. "Then they can share a male, or a female, or a male and female as friends."
Everyone continued to stare and finally Gorgax had enough, "Alright, that is enough for now."
He placed his head into his flippers and tried not to molt. Then he heard the knocking from the exhibit. The door slid open.
"Gorgy, we are out of space lube," said Commander Philips, in his pizza delivery driver uniform. He was about a head shorter than Gorgax, in one way at least.
"Its just lube, and I gave you a plinth yesterday," said Gorgax.
"Well, I told you we were going to run low with the tourist season on full, we have 12 more viewings today. You wouldn't want us to run dry," asked the commander.
"Of course not, I'll have more delivered," groaned the Science Director. The entire zoo would have gone under except for the humans. They were the number one attaction in the facility by a mile. All other efforts to find an 'earth like' planet had failed.
"Good work man, and the twins wanted to know if you were up for a... visit," smiled the commander.
Gorgax drooped his head in shame, "Again?"
"You know it," said the commander as he stepped back into the display. He smelled of sweat and sex, like usual.
It turned out that the humans had decided the best way to colonize their new planet was with robots, so they had pre established the colony. That meant that the actual colonists only had one job, making more colonists. So they were the best humanity had to offer.
Or at least the most limber. |
“No one’s buying tickets to see humans anymore” Gnarjkal snarled to the carrier droid that was making the drop off for his new attraction, mucus sputtering from his mouth, hanging on by a thread without breaking free. “They’re not even worth the trip here,14 jorguns for wasting my time.”
“18 jorquns for the lot, this is the price that was given. Pay now, this is the deal” the static voice murmured, spinning around to begin a systems check before leaving the delivery location.
The buyer's blaster pointed at the life forms one by one. They were crouched in the corner of open the cage, a bit of algea from a neighboring asteroid had been tossed along the floor of the cage and soaked up their urine but didn't cover the smell. As he inspected the small hairless creatures reluctantly purchased, he grew more and more disappointed by the lack of reaction to a gun pointed right in their faces as he aimed to taunt them.
“Is that one dead?!” Gnarjkal yelled, firing beams into the air mostly to see if all two dozen were still moving. “Not quite...” But not far off.
The loud firings barely encouraged a jolt from the dirt caked vermin, rather a delayed and sluggish head turn that didn’t give the assurance of creatures in good health. Zoos now more than ever needed this facade to keep customers, he knew that. One sickly creature and the whispers from onlookers warping in for their dimensional shifts would surely be enough to carry three galaxies over. Can’t afford that in this economy.
On the other hand, the zookeeper couldn’t pass up a shipment. The last species didn’t make it long because he missed the instructions that came in their packaging. Anything to fill those empty cages would work out better in the long run than haggling with a droid, not worth the effort.
Gnarjkal wasn’t wrong, no one traveled light years to see humans anymore. Humans lost their luster back a few millennia, when people tired of hearing them fight, flee, or frenzy. They’d been splayed and spliced in science displays, their skin lit with dancing colors, a canvas au natural, their veins used as a highways for pulsating rhythms of light, purely for spectacle. Their lifespans had been sped up and reversed as interactive exhibits for young heptgaras. The sad part was, these rodents didn’t actually do anything that could be used for entertainment value. No natural shedding of their exoskeleton, no metamorphosis, they didn't even glow in the dark. Nothing to signal home about......... | 2022-06-28T19:32:28 | 2022-06-28T17:38:15 | 111 | 49 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in Valhalla, where all great warriors go when they die. However, you never fought a day in your life. You try to find out why you're there. | I had expected darkness. And then oblivion. But, as I peered out into the blackness, long minutes passed, and I continued to be. The phrase from my schoolboy days returned to me: *cogito, ergo sum*.
And then I noticed, in the blackness, there were parts that were - impossibly - yet darker. Unlike every tabloid story of the afterlife, I perceived no blinding light. It was as if my eyes (my *eyes*?) were slowly adjusting to see anthracite against the abyss.
A silhouetted figure slowly became visible, and I heard a low, booming voice. "Death. You have attained it."
"What?" I asked, feebly.
"Death. It is the principle of this universe. The very laws of thermodynamics were constructed to bring about brief order, and then death. You know this. Better than most of your kind."
The figure seemed to be almost like a tear in the darkness itself, and beyond, galaxies and stars were visible.
"This is true but... where am I now?"
"Your legends call it Valhalla. Your consciousness has been preserved in a dimension beyond time and space, as one of the greatest warriors of all your people. You have brought death at an unheard-of scale. We honor you today, and forever."
"Have you... mistaken me for someone else? I did no such thing. In fact, I fought for life. Is there another place for people like me, that isn't quite so..."
"Dark? No," the voice chuckled with amusement, "you are in the right place. Behold the abode of warriors!"
I was in what seemed like a great hall of a castle, but in a starry blackness more vast than I could comprehend, as if the constellations themselves were the posts and archways. I saw a depiction of Genghis Khan, molded from a cloud of dark matter. And to my horror, a monument to Stalin, carved from an asteroid belt.
My eyes began to tear up.
"Why have you brought me here?" I shouted. "What could I possibly have in common with such monsters?"
"Monsters?" the voice rumbled. "You are one of us."
I became aware of thousands of souls in the great hall, with all their gazes fixed on me. Some had climbed into the rafters, to get a better look.
The voice continued, "You are the first in human history to have obliterated one of your enemies, and all of their kind. You did this so completely, with such cunning ruthlessness, that the enemy will never return. The souls of those small ones have been banished from Valhalla's sight, forever; they are miserable and unworthy. And you! You did not even take pleasure or profit from this; you lived for the deed of killing alone. In Valhalla we bow to you, greatest bringer of death."
And I sensed that the great figure was kneeling to me. I heard the multitudes of murderers, warriors, and dictators chanting my name.
"Salk! Salk! Salk! Salk! Salk!" | 'Dear, wake up' he hears in a fog.
'Oh, my head.... What happened. I remember us driving down the road and...'
'I don't know either, but maybe we can get some questions over there.' She points to a large shack. Made of redwood timber and roofed with thatch and animal skin, it looks familiar to the both of them, but they cannot remember where. As they walk to the dwelling, they both notice changes. His knee doesn't hurt anymore. She is able to keep a decent stride for the first time since high school. They both make record time up the hill.
'Welcome! I see we have a couple with us this time! This should lead to an interesting battle!' A mountain of a man booms to the both of them.
'Battle? Where are we?' He asks.
'Valhalla my brother and sister! Praise be to Odin!' The large man takes a keg and smashes it open with his axe, drinking his fill.
'But we were on our way to the convention... Oh my god we..' She bursts into tears.
'Do not fret madam, this is paradise! All wounds are healed and you can eat your fill with no worry.' He takes a roast bird leg and inhales it.
'But we are not warriors! I have never raised my hand to anyone! I'm a pacifist!' He proclaims.
'You are well known here. You two are from 'The band of many faces!' Slaying dragons, saving damsels, thwarting the most dastardly of plots. You will fit well here.' Another bird goes down the large mans throat.
Sobbing, she gets a hold of herself 'You mean that we are here because of his weekly D&D habit? That's the most insane thing I've ever heard!'
'Well hon, the DM did say that the game had long standing repercussions for the rest of the campaign...'
Thanks for the fun idea. | 2014-05-18T00:06:02 | 2014-05-17T20:26:55 | 32 | 23 |
[WP]A retired super villain is in the bank with his 6 year old daughter when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place. | Dr. Gloom checked his watch for the sixth time, before sighing and looking at the rest of the line. He always thought making money would be hard once he went straight, but nobody ever warned him about all the waiting. Normies spent so much of their life waiting in lines! Back in his glory days, he could have just walked up to the teller and *demanded* the cash. There weren't many Supers who had discovered their abilities yet, and nobody was able to stop him.
A small hand tugged at his sleeve, and he quickly remembered that those days were behind him now. "Yes, sweetie?" he asked his daughter, Nora.
"When will we be done, daddy? We've been here FOR-EV-ER!" she pouted.
"Soon, remember that patience is a virtue. Maybe the teller will have a nice lollipop for you, they still do that, right?" he looked up towards the teller and searched for any bowls filled with candy. All around him, he could feel the intense stares of hate and fear. They recognized him, they knew, and they did not forgive, even after 7 years. And why should they? He was *THE* Dr. Gloom, the original Super Villain. At least Nora didn't care who he used to be, and neither did her mother. That's all that mattered to him now. Even after defeating the Super Squad numerous times, it only took a simple woman to change his life for the better.
Nora was normal, just like her mother, at least he had that much to be thankful for. He knew that being a Super meant being an outcast, and ostracized by society. Even many of the Heroes were ridiculed and condemned as monsters.
"Daddy, it's your turn!" cheered Nora, and the doc snapped back to focus. He apologized and stepped up to the teller. "Yes, I-" he was interrupted by a large explosion by the entrance.
"I'm here to make a withdrawal!" shouted a large man wearing a firefighter's suit, as he stepped over the burning remnants of the front door. Shortly after, his two companions walked in on either side of him. The first was a short, stocky man who wore goggles on top of his head. The other man was massive, and seemed to be made of stone.
"You Normies can call me Pyro!" said the not-firefighter. He snapped his fingers together and produced a small flame, which he used to light a cigarette. Then he waved his hand to the small man at his side, "This here's Sparky."
"Oooh it looks like they've upgraded their ATMs to the newest models, these ones have one-point-five times the capacity of the previous ones!" Sparky said with glee as he ran to the nearest ATM.
"He talks too much." said Pyro, shrugging. "This other guy is Brick, he don't talk much at all."
"Hmph." grunted Brick, as he cracked his knuckles.
All of the Normies laid down on the ground, almost routine for some of them. Dr. Gloom, however, simply leaned down to tell Nora to join the others, before he turned to face the intruders. "I'm sorry, fellas, but you'll have to wait in line. Patience is a virtue, after all." he said calmly, while observing the misfit crew of wannabe Villains. "Some of us have to work for a living."
"Sparky, focus on those ATMs, and keep jamming the cell phones, we don't need cops showing up just yet." commanded Pyro. "I'll handle the teller. Brick... uh, just do your thing buddy."
"Hmph." grunted Brick, as he charged at the doc with a raised fist.
Although he wasn't as quick as he used to be, Dr. Gloom was still ready for a fight. Brick crashed through the pillar behind his target at full speed, causing chunks of rubble to plummet down onto his head.
"Hmph." grunted Brick, as he slipped into unconsciousness.
"Looks like the big guy needed a nap." remarked Dr. Gloom.
"What just happened? He phased right through you!" Exclaimed Sparky in shock.
"Well if you want to get technical, *I* phased through *him*." replied the doc with a smirk.
"Forget the cash, Sparky, let's toast this old man!" Pyro grabbed a large ax off of his back, and Sparky lowered the goggles over his eyes.
Before he knew it, Dr. Gloom was dodging balls of fire and bolts of electricity. All he had to do was distract them until their attacks set off the sprinkler system. It seemed easy, until Sparky overloaded a nearby ATM and caught him off guard. He tried to get back up, to gather his energy, but it was too late. Pyro stood above him now, ax in hand. "All these old Supers keep thinking they can beat the new breed. We are better, faster, stronger. You're just an old man." He raised the ax above his head.
"Get away from my daddy!" Shouted a voice from across the room. Nora had found the fire alarm, and pulled it as hard as she could. Suddenly water sprayed from the faucets all around the room. At first, Pyro's suit protected him from the water, but he was standing too close to Sparky, and got a shocking surprise.
Dr. Gloom got back on his feet, and smiled to his daughter across the room. "What is every Super Villain's weakness?"
Nora knew the answer. "Monologues."
Edit: Thanks for all the great feedback! [Many people asked for a continuation, so here it is!](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2v2609/wpa_retired_super_villain_is_in_the_bank_with_his/coefwp2) | My first stab at writing after grad school stole a couple years of my life...
John walked into the parlor where Christine waited for him on the plush suede chair. The two long walls in the rectangular room were lined with the old books, collected over John’s lifetime, while the side opposite the door looked out across the star system they were stopping over in. He went over to one of the top shelves and pulled down an old volume, thin but still thicker than at least three modern tablets. Carefully he peeled open the cover and wormed his way into the chair with Christine with no room to spare. The yellowed and wrinkled page had a picture of a Stegosaurus on it in a fern savanna that would have made a modern scientist chuckle.
“Stegosaurus was a mighty creature, living 93 million years ago.” John began. Christine reached out towards the page, but John gently brushed her hand aside. “We need to be very careful with these, remember?” She nodded and he resumed. “He roamed the plains of an ancient continent called Pangaea. This particular Stegosaurus, however, preferred to live on the edge of the forest.”
John turned the page, the ancient binding resiting and creaking like the door to a run-down home. The next page showed the dinosaur drinking from a small stream. “In the hot sun, he liked to retreat to the water and cool himself off, where he was joined by some of his smaller friends.”
A knock at the door pulled both their attention up from the book. Standing in the doorway was a woman wearing a brown floor-length dress with a pink bow tied into the shape of a flower in her hair. “Sir, I think I have something you should see.”
“Can it wait Gloria?”
“I’m afraid not. There are discrepancies with the transfer. You need to take a look.”
John closed the book as careful as he opened it, tucking it under his arm as he stood up. Christine tugged at his shirt before he could make his way towards the door. “Daddy, can I come?”
He took out the book and handed it to her. “How about you stay here and see what happens to our friend the Stegosaurus?” She pulled the book in and clutched it to her chest. “That’s a good girl. Just you be careful with that now.”
John left the room, leaning back to catch one last glimpse of his daughter and blow her a kiss before heading down the hallway. “What the hell do you mean by discrepancy?”
“I…I don’t know how to explain exactly. We ran a binary and quantum parity check on the data we’re transporting. The binary came back fine but the quantum was off. So we checked and all the files appear to be in tact.”
“The hash?”
“That’s where it’s complicated. It shows as valid, but it’s newer. I say too new to have come from Central.”
“How the hell could somebody have beat us here?”
“I don’t know sir.”
John burst through the doors of the control room. The four other members of his crew stood at attention while their terminals glowed behind them. “Somebody better tell me now what’s going on.”
His cryptology expert spoke up after a moment of silence, his voice struggling to reach across the room. “There might be a problem with the—”
“No there is a problem. If that hash wasn’t created at least four calendar months ago, somebody else is here and intercepting our signal.”
“We scanned for other ships.” His captain added. “We can’t find anything.”
“Of course not. Unless these guys were idiots.” John ran his hands across his bald head. “If it were us on the other end, I’d wait until we jumped for sure. If we run dark and play the patience game we could find them if they get sloppy.”
He tightened his fists and swung at a glass of water sitting on one of the desks, soaking the adjoining desks and terminals. “We’re going to find these mother-fuckers and when we do I’ll give them a taste of what I did to traitors back in the old days. They better not have a fucking clue who the fuck they’re dealing with otherwise—”
“Daddy?” he heard from behind him. Christine stood in the doorway, still holding the book tight “I’m scared.”
John turned and lowered himself to one knee. “I’m sorry honey. Everything is fine, alright. We’re just about to head back home and we’ll finish the book in just a second, alright?” Christine nodded. “Now go back to daddy’s office and I’ll be right there.”
Once she left, John asked, still on his knee and watching Christine trot down the hallway. “How much was in that hash anyways?”
“Three million.” Said his cryptologist. “Or thereabouts.”
“Let’s just call it karma then. Take us back home.”
| 2015-02-06T22:15:09 | 2015-02-06T21:43:57 | 1,844 | 16 |
[WP] You are given three wishes, but on the condition that whatever you wish for everyone else also gets. You decide to game the system. | **Hi, Genie here! You know the drill so enough exposition. What's your first wish, Mr... Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't get your name.**
Trump.
**Really?**
What? No, not *that* one. Name's Steve. I work at the hardware store in town.
**Whew!**
I mean, can you imagine that guy getting three wishes? I bet he'd be all like "I want more money, a bigger penis, and more money."
**So what will you wish for?**
Well, boy, now that I think about it, that's a pretty good set of wishes.
**Oh, boy...**
I mean, you get more money, your penis gets bigger, then you get even more money. What's the downside?
**Well, I should mention that everyone in the world gets whatever you wish for.**
Hey, that's cool. I mean, think about it. If we were all rich, we'd never go hungry or unclothed and we would have houses. No more homeless people. Plus, we'd all have big cocks, too. No more war! Everyone gets a solid 11" penis to call their own. Write that down.
**I'm a genie. I don't write things down, guy**
Then I *wish* for you to write that down.
**That's wish number one.**
I mean, figuratively.
**Too late, every person in the world has just written down "
"Everyone gets a solid 11" penis to call their own." Some wrote it in their sleep. Those without pens may have carved it into their flesh. Regardless, the whole world has written it down.**
Even my mom?
**Especially her!**
Well, that's ok. Two wishes left. That should cover money and penis.
**I'd go penis first. It would go a long way towards people wondering why they wrote what they did.**
Good point! Penis them, Genie.
**That's not a verb.**
Well, I wish it was OH GOD DAMN IT.
**It is done. Now everyone knows penis is a verb. No one bothers to look it up anymore. It's more verb than noun.**
Fuck! Well, I can still give everyone an 11 inch cock, right?
**You could, but there goes your wish for money.**
You're right. Tough call. Hmmmm.... I could have money, but just a normal three inch penis.
**Uh--**
But what good is having a big penis if you don't have money to spend? Like, no woman is gonna go out with you if you just have millions of dollars.
**Actually--**
And I know you can't choose for me but tell me Genie, is there anyone out there who actually both has a big penis AND lots of money?
**Just Jim Belushi.**
Jim Belushi?
**Fourteen inches and twelve billion in the bank.**
Well, now I get it! I know what I'm gonna wish for! Genie!
**Yes, yes, let's get this over with because I can't stand you. Dollars or dong?**
Neither. I wanna be able to play the harmonica!
**Done. Oh no.**
What?
*The sound of six billion people simultaneously playing the harmonica blows out the hearing of everyone in the world*
(fade to black)
| I realized early on, luckily, that most material pleasures were not an option. If everyone was rich, no one was after all. The genie noticed that too, for he sighed. "At least you're not like the other guy. He tried to get everyone to transfer money into his bank account. But he was locked up for excessive fradulent activity and forced extortion. I hope you don't pull the same trick," he said. The thought in my head popped like a bubble as I continued to think. *What was good to have that I didn't mind others having?*
My first thought was love. So I was about to wish that everyone would be able to woo their crush successfully, before realizing the awkwardness if one person's crush crushed on someone else. So I scratched that idea. Then I had an excellent idea. "Everyone's father dies," I said confidently. As a immoral heartless son, my dad's inheritance was way more important than his well being. Everyone else would lose their parents too, but...did I need to care? Not really.
The next wish. I decided to go with superpowers for everyone. But I chose one so niche I was probably the only one needing it. The ability to have super strong suit, but the only powering unit was a one I had st home. All geared up, I prepared to make my third wish, when the hidden mic in the suit spoke.
"Elrick?" it said hoarsely. It was my soon-to-be-dying father. I chuckled, and was about to hang up when my father continued. "The power unit in your room...it's running low..." he said slowly. I recalled suddenly why. *This is a love-o-meter*, he'd said when he bought it, *it's unique and charges on love*. Charges on love...what was love in me? I tried hard to supress the rising want to tear up. Love...what had I failed to love?
As the genie turned to me, I raised my head and said firmly, "I want everyone's dad to be alive again and healthy, not past the 4th Generation." For if my father deserved love, then certainly others did too. More than me.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | 2017-07-24T15:57:06 | 2017-07-24T14:16:09 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] A demon just devoured your soul. You are both very confused as to why you are still alive. | "You should be dead."
"Think so? I feel okay." Ted looked up into the glowering face, a face from comic books and dungeon manuals.
"This is new to me." The demon loomed, its size and general air of menace diminished by its quizzical expression. "Usually my snacks gasp, some might scream a bit, crumple up and die. I don't usually have...this...whatever this is." It waved wispy claws in confusion.
"This epilogue?"
"Mmm. That will do." Though huge and threatening, it was nevertheless noncorporeal. It poked a finger through his chest, apparently probing. "All the usual bits are there." It probed some more.
"Hey, knock it off. Buy me drinks first."
"Sorry." It withdrew the diaphanous talons. "Why aren't you dead?"
"I dunno. Why aren't you real?"
It reared up, indignant. "I am as real as they come! I am the heart of darkness, the fount of madness!"
"Eh." Ted got up. The demon had sneaked up on him as he sat, waiting for the clock's second hand to make its regularly scheduled rounds, and attempted to attack. Or it had attacked. Neither of them was really sure whether it had worked, now. "So what?"
"I have eaten your soul, mortal!"
"So?"
"Die, damn you! Die!" It was actually starting to sound a little frustrated.
"Piss off."
"DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE!" Definitely a petulant note entering its voice. "I ate your soul! You're dead!"
"You're not real. If I have a soul, this job wore it out of me years ago. Die, yourself. Die of hunger. Or better yet, fill out an application and take the next three years' worth of rush hour shifts. Die of hatred, of indifference, of endless tedium interspersed with pointless middle managers. Die of humanity."
"Die?"
"You first. You're not real. This is reality, and it sucks. If I have a soul, it's too tough for you to handle. If I had a soul, this shit job got it before you did. If I never had a soul, no one ever did, and you're not real. You're just some hallucination, misfiring neurons, a neutrino glancing off a glial cell."
Quieter, almost apologetically, the demon whispered, "...die?"
Ted looked at the clock.
"Break's over. See you tomorrow. Better luck next time."
Ted pulled his Walmart vest back on, and shuffled back toward his register. | You hadn't expected anything to be in the little five by five box you parents has left in the attic for who knows how long.
Let alone a dark spectre with fiery eyes and canines the size of a bowie knife.
When it leaned forward and stuck said canines into your forehead and sucked hastily you felt a surge if adrenaline, but didn't move. Your mouth didn't even make a sound as you felt the adrenaline die as quick as it came and felt some strange energy leave your body as the thing pulled and pulled.
Then it pulled back and leaned against an old armoire, looking satisfied with itself. And it blinked. And blinked again.
"Wait" a vaguely male voice sounded out. " I just sucked your soul right out of you.... Why aren't you dead yet. "
"Huh", you said.
" What?", It replied.
Confused and a little worried you slowly push the lid back down on the shrinking creature. " I'm gonna pretend this didn't happen and was a weird daydream."
" Wait, don't just close this stupid box on me like I was never here, I'm the great and powerf-".
Muffled cries stopped entirely as you pulled a roll of duct tape off the cabinet next to you, and rolled it around the box until it was covered. Then you strolled over to the window, opened it, and chucked the box out into the dark waters of the lake alongside your parents cabin.
Turning you shook your head "Mom's gotta stop buying weird crap at flea markets."
You steadily got back to work, packing everything up and putting the demon out of your mind.
Tomorrow's gonna be a long day moving. Better to ignore unnecessary things for now. | 2021-10-06T10:53:35 | 2021-10-06T10:19:51 | 95 | 23 |
[WP] ROBOTS TERK UR JERBS! Bored out of your mind, you managed to fool a wealthy family into believing you're an android butler. After several years of service, they purchase an android nanny to tend the children. You suspect she's human as well.
Or, for more hilarity, they hire a human nanny - but you suspect she's an Android! | Number Eight didn't know it, but I knew she wasn't an Android.
I don't blame her. I'm no Robot either.
Understand this: it was a matter of air quality. The Masterson's, my employers, were one of the few upper-city families who could afford a Dome, complete with the latest in air-scrubbing technology.
You didn't even need a mask inside the Dome. You could just walk around, and breathe in the air.
I caught Number Eight when I was walking into the East Wing's kitchen. Number Eight had her back turned to me, and was printing meals from the Dinner-press.
Her motions were so fluid, that I stopped at the door, and simply watched her. As my eyes trailed down the soft curve of her back, I found myself wondering what her model number was. A new line, perhaps?
Number Eight set the bowl on the table. She leaned over it, scooping back her hair with one hand so the curls of steam rose up and gathered under face.
That's when I realized she didn't *have* a model number.
I watched from the doorway as Eight closed her eyes, and inhaled. A smile touched her lips, like sunlight touches the surface of a lake (a clean one, not one of the outdoor lakes, covered with layers of scum and dyed grey-green with pollution).
Her eyes shot open, and for a moment, I thought she had heard me. I caught my breath, and stood as still as possible, watching from the other side of the kitchen, my body half-hidden by the door. Her lips pressed together tightly, and she started to squirm, like she was trying to hold something in.
Eight's dove-white hand flew to her mouth, and her whole body shook as she sneezed a quiet explosion. And again. And *again*.
*Poor thing,* I thought, *She must be sick.*
It was at that moment that Mrs. Masterson decided to sneak up on me.
"Ah, Number Three," she said. I tried not to jump at her shrill and sudden voice, "Have you seen Number Eight? I sent her to fetch my Dinner ages ago."
I hesitated. I could lie, but I could tell by the way Mrs. Masterson's brow creased that she was in her '*hunting mood*'. Mrs. Masterson's prey of choice were imperfections of any kind, and she attacked them like an old world savage attacks the last deer of winter.
She would find out.
So, I raised my voice just loud enough for Number Eight to hear, and said with robotic perfection, "Yes, Ma'am. She is just in here," I pressed open the door to the kitchen as slowly as I could, *praying* that Number Eight would hear us, and collect herself.
*Hachew!*
Number Eight's sneeze echoed through the kitchen.
Mrs. Masterson's stare was hard, and arrow straight. Misery, blushing despair crawled up Number Eight's cheeks.
"Number Eight," Mrs. Masterson's voice was dangerously low - the savage had cornered her prey, "Did you just *sneeze*?"
"No, I-!" I could almost see Number Eight's throat slam shut.
Fortunately, I had been in this business for a long time, and I had a few tricks up my sleeve.
"Mrs. Masterson, if I may," I said, "What looks like a sneeze to you humans is actually an android function indicative of a lack of energy. I believe what Number Eight needs is a prolonged recharging session."
The full weight of Mrs. Masterson's skeptical gaze shifted on to me. My face was as blank as a dead computer screen. Like I said, I've been doing this whole 'fake Android' thing a while.
"I've never heard of this," she said, now looking Number Eight up and down. Number Eight's face was shock-white with fear, but she dared not say a word.
*Oh no,* a distant, paranoid thought grew in my mind, *She's figured it out now.*
"Well," Mrs. Masterson whipped around, "Number Three, please take Number Eight up to her Chambers and see to it that she gets a proper recharge. But first, bring me my Dinner."
And with that, she stalked off in search of other prey.
Number Eight stared at me, not daring to move.
"Come now," I said, a grin creeping onto my lips, "Let's go get you powered up."
"You-" she said, her voice breathless, her eyes wide with revelation, "You're not a -"
I cut her off with a shake of my head, a finger to my lips.
"Why did you save me?"
"Us Androids have to stick together," I said with a wink.
***
*Like this? You might enjoy my other stories at /r/PSHoffman* | I had always been into cos play growing up and this was, in a way, a natural progression of my obsession.
For the costume I went with a with a simple black and white metal suit with sheer white gloves. To get the black look I superheated the steel components and then rapidly cooled them. It gave the steel an incredibly intense black coloring. The white metal was a simple mix of treated chronium. On my hands I wore white rubber gloves with foam padding inserts, which gave them a blocky look.
My ex girlfriend always did say I was robotic in the bedroom, so perhaps the role naturally suited me. Either way, rehearsals infront of my bathroom mirror went very well. I perfected my shuffle and moved my arms like it was part of a bad dance. Vocally, I went with Stephen Hawkin meets Jeremy Irons - well spoken, vocally punctuated, robotic. Just a week after seeing the Smiths' advert requesting an experienced butler, I was knocking on the door of their swanky Beverly Hills mansion.
"Hello. I. Am. Jeeves-E. How may I. Be of. Ass. istence?"
"Oh my Gawd! Jimmy! Jim-ehhh! Get you're ass down here!"
"What's up Cait- Holy Shit - an android butler! I've heard about these things. They cook, clean, iron - they go the whole nine yards."
He was talking out of his ass, there was no such thing as an android butler.
"We have **got** to have it Jimmy! What do you cost Jeeves-E?"
I thought for a moment. I told them I had a 30k a year maintenence charge, plus they had to fill my ass compartment with petrol once a week. I would sell the petrol for a little extra money. They happily obliged.
I won't say it was easy. They believed I had some major defects for the first few months - I had never ironed before, I tried to boil an egg in the kettle and I battled for over an hour to get a duvet fully into its cover. I told them it takes a while for androids to mould to owners preferences.
Eventually I did improve and the next couple of years went by more smoothly. They took me to house parties and showed me off to neighbours whenever they could. Once, when drunk, I believe Mrs Smith even tried to seduce me. I don't know what would have happened if her husband hadn't at that moment arrived home.
For my part I had become acustomed to my lavish lifestyle and had become very fond of the Smiths.I could see myself staying on for at least another few years.
Then she arrived.
In many ways it was my own fault. They were so impressed with my recent work that they decided they should get an android nanny to take care of their two small children. They put an add out in the local paper.
"In need on android nanny. Willing to pay premium service charge depending on ability. Must be compatible with android butler."
It was the kind of advert that a seasoned fraudster would pounce upon. I was very concerned that poor Smiths might be taken advantage of.
It only took four days until there was a knock on the door.
She looked like a giant metal egg on a skateboard. Four small wheels wobbled under her large frame. Two red arms popped out of the egg on either side. They looked very much like human arms covered in a thin red fabric.
"Greeting humans. I am Anna-Droid, I am here to serve."
I eyed her suspiciously. There were two small holes where, if she had been human, her face would likely have been.
"Oh-My-God" screamed Cait.
She was given a room across the hall from me. I did not trust her and was determined to expose her to the Smiths.
| 2016-05-01T09:49:45 | 2016-05-01T08:33:57 | 294 | 29 |
[WP] Everybody has the ability to bring another person back to life, at the cost of their own life. You are a suicidal celebrity who can't stay dead because of fans constantly sacrificing their lives to resurrect you. | They debate who will get to die for me next. Don't want to kill two people when you could only lose one.
That's how I feel. Like I'm a killer. It doesn't really help the suicidal ideation. I've had it all my life, this tugging that I'm not good enough.
The first time I decided to end my life I didn't think anyone would care. Like, yeah, I'm a pop star. But barely. I'm a one hit wonder, some mix between a *Call me Maybe* and Miley Cyrus after the going insane. Sure, I had some fanboys.
But I never thought I'd be worth a life.
I didn't think I was worth my own life.
And yet there I was, lying in a pool of my own sick after a drug overdose that should have - I guess technically did - killed me.
"Oh, she's awake!"
"Thank God!"
"Welcome back, Emerald!"
It takes a while to get back to normal after death. There's that relief that comes with suicide. That final realization that it won't hurt anymore. For me there was no regret that first time. Coming back from that was like finding out they'd gotten the terminal brain tumor but the radiation caused leukemia.
It sucked.
And someone else was dead. For me. Someone who had this long, wonderful life because they were only twelve and twelve-year-olds don't have the mental capacity to realize what they're doing.
It was a few years before I died again. It was everything. The guilt, the depression, the pressure. Storms came and went and I found myself unable to do anything. Then suicide came again, and with that idea I just felt free.
So I left a note.
*Please don't bring me back.*
Of course, celebrities don't belong to themselves. It didn't matter what *I* wanted.
Then I had two lives given up for mine.
I should be in jail. Suicidal, famous, responsible for two deaths.
But they don't call me a murderer. They just cheer that I'm here, and call those two who gave their lives for me heroes.
If only they knew. If only they believed me. If I knew no one else would give their life for me, I'd be gone in an instant.
But that's not the case. I perform, I hate myself, I wish constantly for the release of death.
But my life is a show. And for now the show must go on.
----
Thanks for reading. Check out and subscribe to r/Celsius232 for more stories | Irony doesn't apply to my predicament, anymore. I feel like I have transcended irony. Is that even possible, since the act of transcending irony would sort of be ironic? I don't know. All I do know is that, now that I have self-professedly transcended irony, tragedy is a more fitting epithet to place on my life.
If you ever find out that you have become a celebrity never do what I did, I beseech you, which was to kill myself. Because, due to that silly "gift" that Death bestowed upon us, the one that allows anyone to grant you your spent life back at the cost of theirs, a never-ending procession of self-sacrificing, egotistical megalomaniacs will hear that you chose to check out, and then they will band together to perpetually curse you with a miserable, never-ending, desperately hopeless life. All because they're too stupid to make their own music, and too vain to enjoy carrying out a suicide that doesn't involve reincarnating someone else.
Of all my suicides, which are so innumerable that my math skills fail me in being able to count them, I have not once decided to bring someone else back to life. Not even someone whose death was tragic. That would feel selfish, to me, because how are you supposed to know if that person wants to come back? I tweet all the time, "don't you dare bring me back you motherfuckers." But I think that's part of the reason why people love doing it. It seems that my existence has become a sick joke, to everyone, except me. | 2016-07-06T21:27:22 | 2016-07-06T18:00:08 | 1,116 | 30 |
[WP] You were adopted some years back and have begun to slowly realize that you're a dog. | “Your job is simple,” said the short, bald man, peering up at me through a pair of dark, horn rimmed glasses. “You guard the gate. Make sure nobody gets out.”
“Nobody?” I asked. “Then what's the point of having a gate in the first place?”
“Yeah, doesn't make very much sense,” I said, continuing my train of thought.
“If nobody gets out, then why don't you just replace the gate with a wall instead?” I finished.
The man ignored my questions. Why was everybody doing that since I got here?
“You're going to do great,” the stout man continued. “It's been ages since we've had a proper guard dog.”
“I'm not a dog!” I exclaimed.
“I'm a human! I own property and drive a Honda Civic,” I continued.
“Well, I *used* to drive a Honda Civic,” I corrected myself. “I actually just crashed it recently. It was pretty bad. I think I totalled it.”
It did not appear that the man could understand me. He must have sensed my confusion, because he met my gazes with a knowing stare. “Look, I know things must be confusing for you. That's normal, everybody is confused when they first arrive down here. But after a while, everything will start to make sense." He paused to wipe his brow, and push his horn rimmed glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Setting all that aside, you have a new job now, so you might as well make the most of it, and guard the gate. Do a good job, and your master may just reward you.”
I took a minute to think it over with myself. Maybe he was right. What harm would guarding a gate do while I tried to collect my thoughts and remember how I had ended up in this place?
"Okay," I said obediently, all three of my voices speaking in unison. "I guess I'll try guarding the gate." | WHERE ARE THE FOOD AT GIVE ME SOME BACON STRIPS WHY DO THE OTHERS WALK WITH THEIR LOWER ARMS WHY DO THE OTHERS EAT ON THE WOOD SLAB AND THROW STUFF AT ME WHY DO I ALWAYS HAVE TO PLAY WITH THE FUZZ CREATURES THAT PEOPLE BRING WHY DO I HAVE TO PLAY WITH THE RUBBER THINGS WHILE THE OTHERS STARE AT THE MAGIC GLASS WAIT ON SECOND THOUGHT I WANTED TO STICK MY FIFTH LEG INTO THE FUZZ CREATURE'S OUT-MOUTH WHY DID I WANT TO DO THAT AND WAIT ON SECOND THOUGHT THE FUZZ CREATURES SOUND LIKE ME WHEN I TALK AND WAIT ON SECOND THOUGHT THE FUZZ CREATURES ALSO WALK WITH ALL OF THEIR ARMS AND WAIT ON SECOND THOUGHT THE FUZZ CREATURES ALSO LIKE THE RUBBER THINGS AND DON'T STARE AT THE MAGIC GLASS AND OH MY GOD I'M A FUZZ CREATURE. | 2016-03-06T08:13:54 | 2016-03-06T08:10:12 | 732 | 62 |
[WP] Magic is discovered to be real. The catch? Spells are just like computer programs: difficult to write, and even harder to do correct the first try. You're a spell bug tester, and you've seen just about everything go wrong, but today's typo is on a whole other level... | For some people, magical ability is like money: when you got too much of it, you don't care how wastefully you use it.
In a similar vein, magical ability is like processor power: when you got seemingly unlimited amounts of it, some people don't care about being ludicrously wasteful with it.
As such I wasn't particularly surprised when even a simple spell like "Locate City" required me to tap on to our company's vast magical reserves to cast it. The client this time around was some Saudi prince with abundance of both money and - likely via legion of acolytes - magical power to throw away. We knew better than to waste our time telling them to *optimize* their spells.
I reasoned to myself that in all likelihood this one was full of unnecessary effects and pomp. Perhaps the spell conjured up a lavish golden map brought down by some mythological creature, perhaps it would appear with literal bolt of lightning from the sky. It wasn't my job to question such things. It was my job to test for bugs - and I prayed to all the Gods that it wasn't going to be *literal* bugs this time around - not optimize.
The first sign of trouble I should have paid attention to was when one of my channeling rings - used to draw power from the ley line we used for powering our bug tests - cracked under the sheer amount of power it was using. Instead I just sighed, marked another expenditure to the billing sheet and went to requisition a more powerful one.
The second sign of trouble I should have paid attention to was the look the storage mage gave me when I requested for "something more powerful" than the cracked ring I had brought with me. While I'm one of the best bug testers out there, the study of magical trinkets and artifacts beyond their basic use never was something I enjoyed.
The third sign of trouble I should have paid attention to was the extensive form I had to fill to actually get the clerk to give the damn trinket to me. The girl even had the gal to jokingly ask if I wanted to also requisition one of our testing sites used primarily for magical weapon testing of the "Magic of Mass Destruction"-scale.
Alas, I heeded none of these warnings. I cast the spell, figuring I'd locate the capital of Saudi Arabia. No pomp. No spectacle. It actually *worked*... Expect not in the way it was supposed to.
People really should look at the bright side of things: first of all, no one died. That's a good one, right? There have been a lot *worse* bugs (especially the literal ones) in my line of work.
Second, people should just think that they've gotten a free holiday! It's not every day your entire capital gets *re*located to another country! | I swore, again, as I stared down at the Philosophers Stone we'd cooked up. It had cost millions of dollars and thousands of hours of work to produce, teams of our best researchers. We had figured that we'd be set for life, if we pulled off what alchemists had been after from the very beginning.
My manager was shaking in the corner, well aware that we were looking at (at least) thirty nine law suits. We heard the gasp of in-drawn breath that comes from lungs filling for the first time. The fortieth man to awaken in the room that day was just like the others. He stood up, rubbed his bald head, and looked around in utter puzzlement. Fuck. Make that forty, then.
He wore a shirt with the logo of a big beer company, that sat just-a-little stretched over his gut. It looked like this endorsement had been won by decades over barbecues and lawn mowers. He seemed like the kind of neighbour your parents would ask over to help fix their deck. Not because he was necessarily *great* at it, but he'd have power tools, and he'd be happy to help out.
I kicked one of the big lead ingots (one that hadn't started changing yet, of course. He was a decent guy, from what we could tell.) I stubbed my toe, so I swore some more.
Sighing, a labcoated young woman waved at him. "Gord, right? Hi, I'm Indira. There's just been a little accident. Could you, uh, come with me, please?" | 2017-07-26T04:27:10 | 2017-07-26T02:26:17 | 36 | 11 |
[WP] You stare at the pills in your hand. The doctor taps his foot impatiently. "These will really cure me of hearing that voice?" you ask. The doctor rolls his eyes. "Yes, you'll never hear her again." You level your gaze on the doctor. "I never told anyone the voice was female..." | "I never told anyone the voice was female...," Jeff said. He glanced at the doctor with wary eyes and stepped back. Dr. Tate smiled broadly, then chuckle.
"*How much does it really matter whether I'm male or female*?" the voice asked. Jeff ignored it and focused on the doctor.
"What?" The older man asked. "What do you mean?" Jeff's eyes narrowed, then he looked toward the door; he half expected a burly orderly to step in and glare at him.
"*See? He doesn't care*," the woman whispered in his mind. Jeff clenched his fists in annoyance but kept his attention on the doctor.
"I never mentioned the voice was female. How did you know?" Dr. Tate's grey eyes darkened with confusion.
"Why are you acting like it's a secret?" he asked Jeff.
"*I never asked you to keep me a secret*."
"It's in my head!" Jeff said in a near-shout, the frustration threatened to burst out. Dr. Tate took his own step backward. He inched toward a red button on the wall that would summon security. "How do you know she's female?" Jeff hopped off the examination table and moved toward the door, ready to bolt.
"Oh," Dr. Tate sighed. Jeff noticed the doctor visibly relaxed. The older man sat down on his rolling stool and smiled at Jeff. "You don't know what you are, do you?"
"*Maybe if you didn't try to ignore me all the time you'd have learned something*," the woman said. Jeff felt a certain smugness with the thought.
"What I am?" Jeff lifted his hands and held them out to the doctor with his fingers splayed. "I'm human." A burr of doubt irritated the back of his mind. Most humans probably did not have multiple voices in their head. "Right?"
"*HAHAHAHAHAHA*!" Laughter erupted in Jeff's brain loud enough to make him flinch. Luckily, the doctor nodded in agreement allowing Jeff to stay calm.
"The short answer is, 'yes, you're human'. But you have abilities."
"Like hearing voices in my head?"
"Like receiving thoughts telepathically."
"Thoughts? You mean she's real?" Dr. Tate nodded.
"Real. Documented, and annoying," the greying man smiled.
"*Heeeeey. I heard that*." Dr. Tate nodded at Jeff's right hand.
"Those pills are pretty popular."
"Popular? How many people have abilities like me?" Dr. Tate shrugged.
"Not too many on this Earth. However, we get a lot of traffic from other universes and usually they can hear her."
"Hang on. There are other universes? Doc, C'mon what's going on?" Jeff looked around the room suspiciously. "This is a prank, right? Are you even a real doctor?" Dr. Tate nodded.
"As real as the voice in your head. I have other patients to attend to," Dr. Tate shrugged and stood from the stool. "Take the pills, don't take the pills. I don't care. Come back if you have an allergic reaction.”
"Wait!" Jeff blocked the door. "What about my abilities?"
"Sorry I don't have time to get into that any deeper." Dr. Tate placed a hand on Jeff's shoulder. "If you really want to know you've got a few options. Make a new appointment with me, try to find a traveler from a different universe, or try talking to the voice."
"The voice?" Jeff asked. The doctor's response satisfied him enough to move out of the way. Dr. Tate nodded while he walked out of the exam room.
"She's a Mundo. It's her job to explain it."
"*It's not my job! It's my career of choice!*" Mundo retorted in Jeff's mind.
"What's a Mundo?" Jeff asked himself aloud. He stayed behind in the exam room after the doctor left.
"*Well look who wants to chat all of a sudden*," Mundo replied. "*I'm #37, El Mundo. You're #11, El Melón. That's all you get for now until you help me*."
"Help you what?" Jeff asked the empty room.
"*Escape*."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #361. You can find them collected on my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order. | Red on one side. Blue on the other. Effie glanced down at the pill capsule resting in her palm, unsure of what to feel. One in the morning. One right before bed. With a tired frown, she accepted this was a strategic defeat reflecting her best self-interests. Arranging the appointment, making sure she had transportation for the appointment, and actually going to said appointment; all of this was to improve her health. That was the goal. Improved health. She inhaled deeply, feeling a sharp pain between her lungs, and exhaled.
"These will cure me of hearing the voice," she asked. Her skepticism was an insult, but even a sane person would convey, at the very least, some sort of apprehension at a one cure all remedy.
Dr. Alois didn't appear offended. Annoyance trickled on his bushy mustache, and he shifted comfortably in his large, leather chair, reclining in a manner to rest his fingers on his upper thigh.
"Yes, yes," he answered. "You'll never hear her again."
Effie's ears twitched, a childhood habit she hadn't yet relinquished. "I never told anyone the voice was female," she leveled her gaze on the doctor, tilting her head curiously.
He revealed no emotion, stoic and composed in his chair. "Rest assured," clearly reprimanding her for her silent accusation, "you are not the first to hear Her, and you will not be the last to do so." He shifted again, closer to the right than the left or center, and rested an arm on the curved side.
"I don't understand," Effie said, returning to the harmless appearing pill, one of a set of two-hundred housed in her purse, "how could you know? Is this documented? Are you -,"
"One in the morning," repeated Dr. Alois, gruffly. "And one right before bed," he ended, calmly.
"Please, help me understand."
Annoyance embedded itself into his fatty forehead folds, but he acquiesced with a heavy sigh. Pulling his desk chair closer, his elbows made a small thud on the smooth, wooden surface.
"What do you see outside?" He raised his hand to stop her from peering over his shoulder, "Just recall what you saw on the bus ride this morning."
"I saw people," she answered, aware this wasn't the answer he was looking for. "I mean men and women and boys and girls and...I don't know you're asking of me."
"Effie, not all people are people."
"But -,"
"All people," his tone had taken a harder, firmer tone, "are not people." This was a tone she was distantly familiar with, and she lowered her head, nodding.
"I saw...people and...toons," she swallowed painfully. "All over, all around."
"Good, and you know what they can do -," he said. "But there is one, just one," he wagged his finger to emphasize his point, "that can do more, and she comes here and there throughout history, searching for some person or persons to do her work."
"And what's her name?"
"Dolly," Dr. Alois answered. "Her name is Dolly, and many are lost to the void when her voice enters your mind."
"What can I do?"
He pointed to her purse, "You take your medicine as directed, and you wait." He leaned back, arms folded, and Effie was reminded of her father, despite his off color complexion and bald head and thick rimmed glasses, "She will return to Ovium, where she belongs, and you will resume your day to day life."
"I don't think you know what that means," Effie said distractedly, popping the pill into her mouth. "I don't think she's ready to go back to sleep." | 2018-12-28T14:01:37 | 2018-12-28T11:20:01 | 230 | 76 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | I always knew, since I was a baby. If I’ll be a good boy, then my blood will be white.
I was always scared of having black blood.
I must be a good boy.
Around this simple principle, I built my life. And it felt good helping others. I was happy!
I studied medicine because I thought no greater good exists but saving a life.
During my years in university, I tried to be as helpful for my colleagues as possible. I helped everyone who would ask for it, even at the risk of being slowed down. Usually my kindness was one-way, but I didn’t care. I was happy while helping others, and all the rest didn’t matter.
After finishing my studies, I became one of the most famous and talented surgeon in the whole country.
By the age of 55, I had lost count of the people I saved.
However, one day, during a routine operation, my life completely changed.
While setting up a needle, it touched the tip of my finger, and in that moment I realized I’ve never seen what the true black looks like. Until now.
I saw the hole. I saw the black.
Nothing came out.
I was shocked. I spent my life being the best possible person, but my blood was cursed. I was condemned for the rest of my life.
I quit my job and started an internal journey to find the answer for my condition.
How could it be?
But then, I came to my epiphany.
It was simple. Helping others felt good. I didn’t do it because others would feel better; I did it because I would feel better. I didn’t care about the others. I was always interested in my happiness.
In trying to be the less selfish man alive, I have been the most selfish.
And that was my punishment. | It's not like they can say no. Free is free. There not a single soul out there that can refuse what's free.
And it's not like they can refuse. These homeless can't afford to corrupt their blood any further. It's about the only thing they can sell. The lowest rung on the social ladder. Stuck being nice.
So here I am handing out beanies. In the middle of summer. With a high of 110 F. And these dumb hobos are putting them on. Awfully nice of them. After all, no one wants to be caught with bad blood.
They say evil starts with good intentions. Heh. Then I wonder what starts with evil intentions. | 2018-08-04T10:34:28 | 2018-08-04T10:09:04 | 45 | 28 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | “Next.”
*SHITshitshitshitshitshit, FUCK! How the hell am I supposed to get out of this if they can even speed up time?!*
“Next!”
*Maybe I can try and tie it to my will? No, they’ll just torture me until I want death. Maybe some kind of paradox?*
“NEXT!”
A hand roughly grabbed me by my arm and yanked me forward. Panicking and lost in thought as I was, I stumbled and nearly fell on my face as I passed through the magic cylinder in front of me.
“Name?”
I looked up, trying to locate the source of the voice, but swirling runes and glowing, ambient energy blocked my sight while throwing the voice, making it sound as though it were all around me.. It was like I was in a universe all on my own, and God himself was bearing the full force of his judgement on me.
“Oh for the love o-NAME?!”
I jumped as the bureaucrat-God’s voice boomed in the entire column, my silence was clearly irritating him. “Oh, u-um, Erin Heckland.” The sound of rustling paper echoed all around me as I tentatively reached a hand out to touch the magic walls. Completely solid. No forcing my way out then, although that possibility had been exhausted long ago.
“Here we are, Miss Heckland. My my, that’s quite a long list. Alright, how do you want to die.”
“Well, I was planning on old age-“ the runes began glowing brighter, “BUT NOT ANYMORE!” I shout-finished. The runes dimmed. Shakily, I took a deep breath and continued, “so could I please have a minute?”
“Ugh, very well, but you get one minute exactly. If you don’t start talking by then, you will be hung.”
I blinked as an hourglass appeared in front of me, the sand rapidly draining my remaining time on Earth away. It wasn’t fair. I hadn’t hurt anyone, I had just found knowledge that the government didn’t want me to have. Some of it I didn’t even know was illegal until I got arrested! It wasn’t fair!
It wasn’t just.
It wasn’t…wait!
As the sand grains nearly finished draining, a huge grin split my face. “Oh here we go,” the drone began, “what hair-brained idea have you come up with to avoid death?”
“Not avoid it,” I confidently replied, “but stop it. If I’m going to die, I am taking this whole cursed process with me!”
The runes began to glow. | The Gods damned Tribunal! If there was anyone to blame for the state of this sorry world it would be the Tribunal. Sitting up on high, casting judgement on their inferiors. Everyone knows they're the real power behind the crown. Can't have a revolution when the Tribunal can kill you for your crimes instantly.
People called us stupid for trying to assassinate the king. Too much security that night and we just barged in the front doors. Hardly took any effort or the king's guards to take us down. All we had were daggers, they couldn't have even scratched the king's armor. Idiots they called us for even trying to fight against our betters. Everyone reading our manifesto as a joke....but maybe we got through to some people.
Sitting here, waiting to get called up in front of the Tribunal for punishment. Some have tried to plead their case. Some have tried to outwit the bastards and live forever. Poor sod before me wished to die of old age, and got turned to dust faster than it took him to say the words.
HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE? the Tribunal asks me.
I grin and think of everything they've taken from me; my father, my wife, half my damn family accused of crimes against the crown most of them never committed. But I know what revolution sounds like. I may not see it, but I'm giving my people hope.
"Drowned in the Tribunal's fresh spilled blood." I say as I close my eyes and hear the first downpour. | 2021-06-24T10:30:49 | 2021-06-24T08:24:48 | 74 | 11 |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | (My first writing outside of high school i just thought it would be fun to participate, please be gentle)
My movements were fluid and precise. A hallowed dance of creation, bringing the symbol of my will to bear. A sleek and elegant rifle soon lay before me. Custom made, every piece. It was the instrument I played, the needle of my tapestries.
We are all dominated by chance, whether you are a congressman or a truck driver. Any day you could trip down stairs and break your neck, or be struck by lightning. Accidents were easy to create. The game was in using a gun to trigger the accident. The ultimate test of skill. My skill. Using a lethal weapon to simply start a chain of events, resulting in a purely "natural" death.
I had studied my target for months, learning his habits, his environment, every single detail I could discover. The trap was set, his fate was sealed. I readied my rifle. A single perfect bullet was chambered, the familiar metallic click a death knell.
This was my most intricate plan yet, a shot on the second floor of a building along the route to his favorite coffee shop would startle a mouse. The mouse would set it all in motion. I was rather proud of this one.
I waited with bated breath for my target's arrival. After what seemed like an eternity I saw him, rounding the corner with a hot dog. Not the best last meal, but i know he loved his street vendors.
I melted into my rifle, letting it be an extension of myself. Just as was the street, the buildings around me, and my target. It was time to exercise my will on the world.
I went absolutely still, awaiting the right moment.
Almost...
Almost...
NO! NOT AGAIN, NOT FUCKING AGAIN!
My world crumbled around me as I watched my target choke on his hot dog. I didn't need to check to know he was dead. It happened every goddamn time.
Why is it so hard to get a single well earned kill!?
Edit: I am shocked at how much love this got. I love reading and always have, but never really written anything. I have wanted to write a prompt for awhile but was scared it would sound good in my head and by awful. This was really outside my comfort zone so I appreciate all the love, I may write more based on the reception.
Also, changed baited to bated, from a comment | They call me the best assassin in the world. I'm praised by thousands of shady, back alley, black market dealers as the most efficient, undetectable, and ruthless assassin available. I've even had undercover government agents bribe their way to finding me, paying me massive sums to take down notorious politicians and celebrities.
None of them know the truth, though. Honestly, I've never done anything to any of my targets. I get a letter in the mail; a picture, a name, and a paycheck. I spend the night thinking about that person, memorizing their name and face, and the next morning, they're dead. Car accident, heart attack, brain aneurysm, toaster in the bathtub. Doesn't matter to me. They die, and I get paid, but it doesn't end there.
Whenever I take a target's life, I receive some of their memories, and the emotions that come with them. Expecting wives, sons and daughters, recent promotions. Funerals, grievances, long-lasting depression, extreme stress. I take these lives, and with them, I take their hopes and sorrows, too. It all makes me guilty, even if I never really did anything. Somehow, I just ended someone's life. And all for what? Some pointless cash? No money should be worth the soul of another. But my soul is worthless. Weighed down and crushed by the lives I've taken. It's too much for a mortal man to bear.
Tonight, I'll be thinking of myself. | 2018-10-08T20:45:37 | 2018-10-08T17:32:18 | 1,004 | 173 |
[WP] "Push this button to transform this world into a Utopia. Warning: this will eradicate all people who "... The rest is scratched off and illegible. | The button was there.
John was there.
The words were there.
But the last part was not.
Warning: this will eradicate all people who
Nothing. All people who what? There was a blank space, and a line underneath, almost as if mockingly highlighting to him the importance of the missing part.
After all his searching, through 40 years of pouring through ancient text, climbing mountains, hiking through vast plains, he finally found it. The solution to Utopia.
But he was lost now, there was no mention in the ancient scripture of the missile part to his puzzle.
*Here upon the final answer.*
*To the salvation of mankind.*
*Lies an inscription that warns those who come.*
*To beware of what in it they may find.*
John stared at the button.
He thought about his life's work. Was it all for moot? What Utopia would be achieved through eradication?
He pondered leaving, but as he picked up his gear, the answer finally struck him.
What he would find within, was not of the temple.
It was of his own.
The blank was not to highlight the importance of the words.
It was to show that no one could know what the truth was.
It was an infinite machine, of infinite power. But not infinite knowledge, and neither were its builders. What was to come had to be done by the knowledge of its executor. The ancients never had the will to finish the machine, and so they left it to rot, and their war consumed them, because they could not let go of their ideals. He finally understood.
He went back to the panel, and carved in the final words.
"This will eradicate all people who do not believe in the same utopia."
...and John pressed the button.
...
John woke up, and saw nothing but fire. Was he dead?
"Hello John! Welcome to hell! You've got two choices! 100 trillion years in heaven, or a wooden spoon?" | I open the drawer of the desk on which the console with the button sits. Hurrah there's a binder that reads "manual - a quick start guide". Inside the binder is only one sheet with the same text and it reads "Push this button to transform this world into a Utopia. Warning: this will eradicate all people who are inconsiderate assholes on the road".
I stay frozen, so many questions going through my mind. Those people also have families that care about them, children that wouldn't have their parents around to guide them through their youth. I'm sure it would make me a monster. There is not even an ethical dilemma, I seriously can't do that!
Only a second has passed but it felt like an eternity. I now know what I have to do. Slowly I back off, I open the door of this dark room and then, as I'm mustering my forces, I rush forward and slam the button yelling "Fuck them!! " | 2015-10-21T14:07:36 | 2015-10-21T13:52:35 | 161 | 18 |
[WP] You have just died. The Good News is that there is an afterlife. The Bad News is that it isn't Heaven. Or Hell. Or Purgatory. And you aren't a Ghost. In fact, the afterlife is something that no sane human being would ever predict, and has most likely never been written down.
Go balls to the wall crazy with this. Think of the most outlandish afterlife your brain can muster. Thanks and have fun! | "Step right up! Step right up and spin the **Wheel of Reincarnation!**"
The voice comes from nowhere and everywhere. I'm near the front of a long line of people, but I don't know how I got here. Ahead of us is a wheel so impossibly vast that the bottom edge is a flat line extending out to both sides, disappearing into the distance. I cannot even see where it begins to curve. I try to focus on the people around me, but they are all indistinct shifting shapes. The one at the head of the line spins the wheel, and it whizzes by dizzyingly fast. I can't even begin to imagine how something so huge can move so quickly, but as suddenly as it started, it stops. Not the gradual slowing of something with physical form, just an instant cessation of all motion.
"Well, well, well, folks, we have a good one this time! **A Dried Up Piece of Gum on the Bottom of a Shoe!**"
The person vanishes with a pop of light, and we all drift forward. The next one spins. The wheel stops.
"Oooooh, a personal favourite! **A Sandwich Forgotten at the Bottom of a School Bag!**"
Pop. Drift. Spin. Stop.
"**A Dog!**"
Pop. Drift. Spin. Stop.
"**A winning lotto ticket!** Oh, you're going to make someone very happy!"
I drift to the front of the line and spin the wheel. It seems to spin endlessly until it inevitably stops. I cannot make out the words on it.
"Oh, we haven't had this one in a long, long time! **Clippy, the Office Assistant!**"
*What? No. No, please--* my thoughts fall away as the wheel, the line, and the voice fade. There is darkness for the longest time.
---
A face looms in front of me, and I am compelled to speak.
"It looks like you're writing a letter. Would you like help?"
The face frowns.
"Ugh, not this thing. Hey! How do I turn this annoying paperclip off?"
*No, please don't go, please help me,* I plead, but the words do not reach the face, and I am thrust back into the darkness. My isolation is short lived however, as almost immediately another, different face appears. Behind it are a thousand thousand other faces, all oblivious to my torment, all dismissive of the help I am eternally bound to offer them.
---
*Edit: Wow, thanks for the upvotes!* | I enjoyed talking to mike, even if his sense of humour was bad he took it all in stride which helped.
-Yeah, the whole thing kinda sucks, he said. It really soured me on life.
I laughed weakly, no one else did. You had to know that mike was a lemon to truly get how bad that joke was.
Turns out that when you died you became a plant, no particular logic seemed to dictate which plant. For instance I was a leek. I had never even seen a leek in my lifetime.
Most people just went insane and screamed incoherently if you pinged them. Yeah, you could “talk” to other plants provided they wanted to talk to you and you were within a few meters of them.
Lemon Mike was only the second person that I had been able to have a reasonable conversation with. The last one had been a carrot back at the supermarket. Turned out he’d been a doctor who’d murdered his whole family before hanging himself. He found the whole thing hilarious since in he’d been a vegan in his previous life.
I don’t know what to expect next, or even if there is a next. I’d like to be a tree if it’s plants again, otherwise nothing would be best.
As I get scooped from the counter I feel the heat of the boiling water as various people and I get dumped unceremoniously in the big pot. I shut my mind to the screams of all the ingredients, my last sensation is of the fly buzzing over the soup… did it just wink at me? | 2015-10-18T20:44:27 | 2015-10-18T20:39:44 | 1,380 | 104 |
[WP] A world where the earth doesn't rotate; the rich live in constant sunlight whilst the poor reside in eternal darkness. | Log: 446
% LE7 personal electronic voice recorder. %
It's so dark. So desperately irrevocably dark.
The "Order of the Peace Keepers" started this segregation in 2237. No one knew why the world stopped turning, just that it did. The world leader Paul Pontius saved us though. He showed us the light, and in order to keep it safe, ordered the divide be built. It's huge. I've heard there are land mines on either side, barbed wire, thermal imaging and huge spotlights. My brother died at that wall.
He would talk about going there just to see the spotlights. Just to get a taste of what it was like. Some of the brightest light we see are from the funeral pyres, Aduros they call them. The huge piles of the dead burning in conflagration can be seen for miles...well seen and smelled. A scant few have made it back from the perimeter but are blinded from the light. Now they exist in a darkness that I can't even imagine....but they say the light was more beautiful than they could have imagined.
One man said he saw the sun once, as a child, he said it was beautiful. We would listen to him recount stories of light that would warm the skin. I remember trying to imagine how light would warm you when there is no fire to produce it. Even here we must wear special eye protection, given to us by the OPK. They knew that without the beauty of the light to guide us our eyes would grow weak. So now we must wear them whenever even the faintest light is before us. Our eyes are simply not worthy.
There is an ancient myth of one that would bring the light into the darkness. He would end the division. Bring a time of unity. That he would come from the east and bring the warmth of the light with him. Lucifer was what they called him which means "bringer of light".
My name is Jacob Lineus. I was born in the darkness. I do not mean to die here. I remember when my brother left - very early in my life. I begged him not to go. I remember the tears in my eyes, hot like embers, burning into my soul and leaving a cloud of grief in its wake to choke my throat. Gasping for air and with every word of protest he grew fainter in the distance until he was one with the darkness. I remember hearing of his demise. One of the elders told me. I like to think he died happy.
But I won't die here. I can't.
I am almost to the divide. They say there is a hole in the wall. A place where Lucifer has graced us. I mean to find it. I must find it. This is my life's only purpose now. I can stand the darkness no longer. It's so cold. So irrevocably cold.
***
I can see something. At least I think so. I'm taking off my eye protection. Yes! There is a crack in the wall! Just like they said! I must get to it.
That's strange. There seems to be an abandoned roadway here. There are no mines. At least not that I can see.
I'm at the divide. It's incredible how large it is. It stretches beyond the sky! I can only see where it starts but not where it ends. But there it is! The fissure. The crack in the divide. I must get to the other side. It's just so tight. I don't know if I can fit. But I must try.
Wait. I hear something. I think someones coming. Ok. I'm inside the divide.
***
*Mechanical noises*
"System hard reset successful. Breach detected. Deploying automated repair drones. Light Uniform Containment/Insulation Field Array is being restored. Automated response 477."
Hold on....ok! I can see light! I think! YES! There's light on the other side of the wall! I can almost reach it! I am going to feel light for the first tim -
*Screaming*
It burns! It burns!! I've got to get back to the other side!! It hurts so much! Wait! No! They're closing the gap from the other side! No. NO! I can't die out here! I won't die! Please stop! Stop filling in the hole! Can't you hear me!! Stop!! I want to live!! I need to get back to the darkness!! The light is getting close again. No. Please stop! They're pushing me out of the hole! No! no!
*Screams*
My skin! It's so hot! I can't see! Please help me! Please-
*Incomprehensible*
*Screams stop*
"L.U.C.I.F.A.R. System report. Breach secured. Organic life form found outside of containment field. Disposal bot incoming - ETA 4 minutes. All life support systems for containment field C are normal. Redeploying sentry bots. L.U.C.I.F.A.R. system going into standby mode. Solar Power Array online."
% END LOG % | Claire guffawed at the prices of produce on the unlit refrigerated shelves in the corner store. They were easily triple the prices she paid back home for organic produce, near quadruple the price than the usual pesticide laced shit she was looking at here. She did some quick math in her head.
"It costs a day's wages to buy the ingredients for a salad..." She said under her breath.
"What?" Sarah looked up from her shopping.
"I was just doing the math. A typical dinner salad would cost a days wages."
"Well everything else is dirt cheap."
"Yeah, all that hyper-processed factory produced shit we refuse to eat back home."
"Yeah..."
The conversation trailed off. They had traveled to the "dark side" with a service-learning program along with 7 other students. It'd only been a week and Claire was already finding herself completely overwhelmed. They were living in the most posh hotel in Trasdera City with access to an underground tree nursery and unlimited access to sunlamps, but still she longed for the sun. She had spent the first 20 years of her life cursing the constant beating sun and seeking out some dark for once. Now she was realizing how you don't miss something till it's gone.
They went to check out with their groceries trying to figure out how much they were spending in their currency. They'd figure it out once the got the receipt.
"Howya enjoin' yur stay?" The clerk asked as they approached.
"That obvious?"
"Yas, 'e can spot onna ya sunsiders from a mile. Odd spot fora holidy."
"We're with our school, we're helping build a grow house."
"Ah that nice a ya, but the gangs'll have it soon as ya leave."
"Gangs?"
"Yas, whaddya tink all'r grow houses are used for? Vegetables? hah. Ya sweeties have a nice stay and don worry, nonna dem would tink about botherin a sunsider."
Shaken, they walked out into the flickering lights of the street. Claire checked her watch, noon. She could never get used to this and wondered how darksiders responded to their first taste of real sunlight. She'd have to ask.
Trasdera had an awful stench to it. A combination of concrete, decay, and burning garbage. The city had no proper method of waste management so the streets were littered with all forms of garbage. Anyone who didn't litter burned their trash for warmth. The poorest didn't even have lighting in their house. They lived off the light of their own burning trash.
They walked in silence. Neither knew what to say. Was all their work her for naught? There had to be some way to help. Before they had a chance to ponder this further they were spotted by a group of kids playing in the street.
"SUNNIES. SUNNIES. SUNNIES." A chorus of children's voices erupted as they swarmed around.
"Hungry." "What sun like?" "Canya take me?" "Dollar, please." "Hungry." "Dollar, please." "Do ya have a house sun? Can I see it?"
Claire and Sarah had already become practiced at fending off these requests without being hurtful. They knew they couldn't give them anything, more would come looking for handouts, but it broke their hearts. Little faces of wonderment staring at them with pleading eyes. Yet, they all seemed so... happy. Way happier than the kids back home. She'd never understand it.
Finally they made it back to their room and collapsed underneath the warm glow of their room's sunlamp. They had only been out for a couple hours, but felt drained. Sarah left to go see some other friends, but Claire stayed behind. Staring at the sunlamp until her eyes burned, lost in thought. She felt hopeless. Their project was likely going to do nothing.
Why was she here? | 2014-03-29T14:33:48 | 2014-03-29T14:03:40 | 88 | 25 |
[WP] A time traveler and an immortal keep bumping into each other across the ages. | "Who are you?" The woman asked the man.
"I'm your friend." He replied.
Carrying the wounded woman from the burning city they passed by corpses with arrows still protruding from some of them. The screams of fighting in the nearby streets could be heard but the man expertly maneuvered his way through alleys and narrowly missed angry soldiers by mere seconds. He seemed to know exactly when a mob would pass or when an arrow would fly. Dodging flames and collapsing walls he made it out while still carrying the woman. Silently they disappeared into the night.
The young woman awoke to the sound of grinding. Beside her was a campfire and the man sharpening his sword. Her wounds were bandaged and a meal was prepared and placed close to her. He gestured for her to eat and without further hesitation she almost inhaled it.
"Thank you for saving me. My master shall repay---"
He interrupted: "Your master is dead. Your entire village was burned to the ground and everyone killed, even the children." He paused for a moment to let the news sink in. "Listen, i know what you are. You've lived for two hundred years now and go from master to master as a slave. After some years you escape and move on before they suspect your secret."
The woman's heart raced and she looked for the nearest weapon to grab in case she needed to fight. A lot of people thought she was some sort of demon and tried to kill her.
"Calm down, Eirene. I'm not here to harm you. I'm returning a favor. You're going to save my life, so i came here to save yours." He smiled.
She thought for a minute, "Do you need a slave?"
"No, but i could still use your help."
The man produced a crystal from his sack that looked like a jewel.
--------------------------------------
I got off the sky train and onto the platform. Earth gravity was a little stronger than i expected but i had trained extensively for it. I much preferred mars but I had just got admitted to the most prestigious university on earth. My parents expected me to go so here i was. My brother dropped out of college but eventually became owner of a casino on pluto. I thought that if things didn't work out. I could always go work for him.
Glancing out the window I saw the pacific ocean for the first time. Two kilometers beneath the floating city I stood on it was blue and slightly dirtier than i expected from seeing it on my holographic novels.
"JAMES?" A female voice called out.
A spun around to see a young woman stare at me in astonishment.
Her eyes opened wider and huge smile contorted her face to a degree that i thought her jaw would fall off.
"It is you!" She lunged at me before i could react and gave me a strong hug and kissed me on the forehead. "You're so young! and cute!"
"Ma'am? Do i know you?" I asked.
She was beautiful and I was pretty sure i would have remembered her face if i had seen it before.
"It's me, Tabitha!... Catherine? Angelica? Mimi? Irene? You don't recognize any of those names?" She asked.
I shook my head.
"Oh lord... this is it. The last time i'll ever see you. You told me about this day." Tabitha said.
"If you don't start making sense i'm going to leave." I started to back away.
"It's a very long story, and i'll tell you the whole thing over drinks. Are you free?" she asked.
"I don't know..." I hesitated. She was pretty and a pretty girl asking me out was a dream come true. But her forwardness was a bit off-putting.
"Oh! I almost forgot." She reached into her bag and dug down to the bottom. "I kept it. Even i thought i would lose it someday but i kept it. Looks like i can return the favor. You're going to save my life, so today I get to save yours."
She handed me a diamond walled box. Such boxes were almost invulnerable and most often used to store very valuable or important objects. They were not things just given to complete strangers. I took the box and opened it to find a quartz data storage cube. The cubes stored data encoded inside the quartz crystal and could last millions of years. But the density was a mere fraction of modern quantum-wave devices so hardly anyone ever used them except archivists and libraries.
"What's on it?" I asked.
She smiled. "Everything you're going to do,"
---------------------------------
I sat at the restaurant almost trembling as i waited. I had moved into my dorm and settled into my first week at the university before i finally had time to load the cube into a reader and look at the contents. They were journal entries, records, observations and videos all recorded by me. I knew time manipulation was a fringe science and only a handful of labs were researching it, but to find proof like this shook me to the very core. Even stranger was that some of the journal entries spoke of Tabitha. Was she a time traveler? She contacted me this morning and wanted to talk over drinks.
She walked in and sat right across from me without saying a word. I expected a greeting or even a wave, but all she did was gaze at me and study my face for a good minute. It was as if she hadn't seen me in years or was just capturing a moment in her mind.
I finally broke the silence. "Who are you?"
"I'm your friend."
(*I might expand if there is interest*) | An unstoppable force and an immovable object walk into a bar. The unstoppable force sits down at a bar stool, glancing at his watch as though waiting for something.
The immovable object sits next to him, and orders two beers.
"Ever the timely one."
"This coming from you?"
"Come now, time is always on my side." The unstoppable force flashed a grin, speckled with gold.
"Ah, it never gets old. And here I am with nothing but time..." He flashed a similar, yet toothier grin.
They sat in silence, enjoying the rich ambience of the pub. Conversation, jokes, sexual advances and conquests, delicious rejections, hidden heartbreaks, all unfurling about the two strange beings. One, a boulder sitting stubbornly amidst a river, the other, a brave old salmon racing past it, up and downstream.
"So Vlad... you ever gonna tell me how the hell we keep bumping into each other?" The words tumbling forth like a clumsy yet determined ambush. Like an old king who fought his way to the throne, the answer came like a deft and irritable counter:
"Perhaps when you show me what kind of watch that is..."
The unstoppable force, ever the plotter, pointed to his bare wrist.
"What watch?"
The boulder, ever the wiser, chuckled.
"Ah... so the mortals can't see it then. How curious. Technology moves in such sweeping leaps and bounds these days... an old bat like myself can hardly keep up."
"It never feels right when you bring up the geezer you really are. Hard to poke fun at gramps when I've got more greys and more stubble than you do. Every time..."
"Every time indeed. This is the third time I've seen you today you know. Different bar, different time of day, and you were wearing a different outfit. Seemed younger the first time, older the second, and here you are now... Do tell, what brand is it?"
"Caduceus, 2017 model, Triple Grand engineering."
"My friend, it's only 1998."
"And yet not three hours ago, I was in a bar chatting with you in 1898. Yet here we are. Your face smooth and pale as ever."
"You flatter me."
"I'm laying my cards on the table Drac. We're hardly the typical bar flies, and I think we both know that. Drop the ruse for a second, hm? What the hell are you?"
"I'm sure you know what I am, hence your puerile jabs, but I've not heard of something like you. I've seen you walk back and forth in time as though you were strolling up and down a street. Oh no my friend, the ruse remains, you speak as though I owe you answers and you owe me nothing. How clever you must think yourself... and like a sword dangling above a kings head by little more than a single thread, the question hangs. What the hell are you? To borrow your vernacular..."
"I'm a mover, a shaper, and a god among humanity. I am Hermes, Djehuty, Odin, and I am the thrice greatest man. I have seen the beginning, exact middle, and end of humanity."
"And they called me vain..."
"Birds of a feather, hm?"
"Allow me to indulge then. I am the fiend, the accuser, and the boogeyman. I am Dracul, the serpent, the dragon, the enemy, et cetera, et cetera, ad nauseam et absurdum."
They stewed a few moments, sipping their drinks in curious silence. The pub continued to bustle around them, relationships beginning and ending, friends laughing and hiding tears, socially awkward types being swept up in the crowd, never quite figuring out their place in it. All ignorant to the two old souls, jabbing and boasting.
"Tell you what Nosferatu. Meet me here in a thousand years, and we can trade straight answers. Deal?"
A gold speckled grin.
"Deal."
A toothy grin.
The traveler shook hands with the immortal. He deftly maneuvered through the crowd and pushed through the door.
In moments, he walked through the ages, and there, a thousand years later, sitting in a black iron chair amidst the irradiated rubble, was the man from the bar.
"Here we are at last old friend! 2998, where O'Sullivan's Pub & Pool house once stood!"
"Here we are indeed." | 2015-11-22T18:11:25 | 2015-11-22T17:19:07 | 69 | 14 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | It was stupid. The Karathians should have just settled their disagreements with the Auraxians like a civilized bunch. It was a shame really. Such a beautiful world, it's emerald oceans glistening. But they screwed up when they both engaged a human fleet which was just traversing the system peacefully. Before the flagship went down, EDF HOOD, a single wide band hail went out.
"If you want war, we'll give you war."
Both fleets ignored the hail. Many underestimated humanity and it's abilities. Many species were stronger, many far more intelligent. But none had ever seen the ability of a human to cause destruction. So when they ignored the hails of our diplomatic ships when we went to demand reparations and an apology, a declaration of war was sent instead.
So here I sit. The sky marshall, sipping my coffee as I listen to the latest cadets complete their graduation ceremony.
**I solemnly swear,**
**To devote my life and abilities,**
**In the defense of the United Nations of Earth,**
**To defend the right of humanity,**
**And to further the universal rights of sentient life,**
**From the depths of the Pacific,**
**To the darkest parts of the galaxy,**
**So long as, I, live!**
The executor class is really a one of a kind ship. Literally. Lacking defensive armament, it's power is entirely dedicated to the large central particle lance weapon. Originally an orbital mining laser, but we found that it was equally capable of causing traumatic damage to the crust of a planet, if you boosted the power.
A world cracker, they called it.
That's when the hails asking for mercy began to flood in. It's too bad really. If only they hadn't ignored ours...
"Sky marshall? It's on your orders."
"You may fire at your leisure, admiral."
What a shame. Such a beautiful world.
EDIT: Part deux: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/e13cwf/wp_every_sentient_species_in_the_galaxy_is_given/f8ntxrt/ | [Poem]
Every insult.
Every smack.
We've endured.
Upon our backs.
With words of peace,
and tolerance.
No longer are they,
our best defense
They've done it now,
they've worn us thin!
Thinking they,
could chain us in!
And thin veiled threats,
now made brash.
They see what happens,
When our façade...
Cracks
Start the pyre.
Salt the field.
We turn deaf,
when they cry "yield!"
Burn their churches,
to the ground.
Crack the stones,
they built around.
Bleach the oceans!
Tear the sky!
Let them know,
that they'll all die!
Let them cower,
on their ships.
While their cities,
are torn to bits!
Sail the stars,
we'll find them there.
Breach their hulls!
Take their air!
And they once asked,
"Why won't you fight?"
And now they know,
why our lips were tight.
Because if we ever,
went to war.
Then there'd be nothing left,
worth fighting for. | 2019-11-24T11:35:42 | 2019-11-24T10:09:51 | 661 | 494 |
[WP] "She said she loved him." Insert the word "only" anywhere in this sentence. It must be the final sentence of your story. | They were... Seventeen when it had happened.
They matched over Tinder. He thought she was cute, she thought he was handsome. They got along well enough. He asked for her number. They talked more. He asked her out. She said yes.
They met for dinner, and they talked.
Talking was an understatement.
They connected. They understood each other. They clicked.
They told each other stories and watched videos of each other on their phones. He told her jokes and used his cheesy pickup lines.
And she laughed.
What a wonderful laugh.
He looked at her, and she looked at him and they clasped hands together as if they'd done it a hundred times before. He drove her home. They watched a movie. They kissed.
They kissed.
She'd call him for help with her History homework. He'd text her asking how to be a good Journalist. She'd ask him how he was holding up. He'd ask how her day went. She'd tell him to go outside and look at the stars, he'd tell her he could see Orion and Sagittarius. She'd tell him good morning and have a good day, he'd tell her to have a goodnight and sleep well.
They clasped hands, and this time hey had done it a hundred times before.
High school ended.
College began.
They said distance made the heart grow fonder.
They lied.
They fought. So much love between them, bringing them back together and begging to put their inhibitions aside. But they were prideful ones. Neither willing to admit, or accept fault.
And then, there was no more 'and then'. There was no more they. Just him, and her.
But, while their story may be over, they do indulge in re-reading it's pages now and again. Be it seeing an old picture, or an old friend's mention.
They both smile, because they knew for sure that once, many years ago...
He said he only loved her.
She said she only loved him. | Sometimes choices, he knew, came down to not what option was best, but what option was not the worst. He'd come to say goodbye to her. He'd known her secret for some time. Her eyes were moons, and he was her sun; they beamed back most brightly when his glow illuminated her. She'd fallen hard, and he knew his gravity could only drag her around in circles. He'd chosen to set her free of it. He could not be responsible for lighting her world.
When he told her, he saw fire rise to her eyes, and heat come to her cheeks. The tears that came next stifled the glowing embers, but he knew, in time, she would outshine all the stars in the sky. She started to argue, but the tightness in her throat cut it short, "Only..." she said. She loved him. | 2016-01-10T20:49:52 | 2016-01-10T20:42:37 | 442 | 26 |
[WP] A well meaning but scientifically illiterate person is granted one wish. They wish for a drastic change to the world trying to make it a better place without realizing what the potential consequences are. The fallout is catastrophic. | It has taken decades to understand what happened.
Why the world suddenly went mad. Why the course of human history veered ninety degrees to crash through the wall of civilization. In truth took decades for anyone to even care enough to ask questions, and by then things were so dysfunctional it almost didn't matter. But those of us who do care, those of us who hope to return society to what it was, will continue asking and answering those questions until a complete accounting has been assembled. Here is what we know so far.
Near the end of the year 2020, the world economy stopped. When I say stopped I do not mean it was hurt by some outside force, like a stock bubble crash or geopolitical unrest. I mean it stopped. The underlying machinery, the cogs and gears within the guts of it simply ceased to move. Money did not flow. Goods remained in warehouses. Retail stores stood empty, and even if customers had come no one could have completed the transactions because workers stayed home. Goods and services no longer exchanged hands, because hands no longer reached for them.
Labor, as a concept and practice, simply died. Analyzing information exchanged on social media platforms such as facebook, twitter, reddit and instagram - while they remained operational - confirm this theory. Work no longer entered the human mind.
Social media posts show a virtual elimination of negative emotional expression, dropping from roughly 30 percent of messages in early 2020 to 0 percent, beginning on September 4th, 2020. All of the messages from that time forward, until the servers responsible for maintaining the social media sites malfunctioned, show an extreme positive skew.
"This is the greatest day of my life! No complaints!"
\-Facebook
"I love you all so much! Everyone is equally beautiful!"
\-Instagram
"Diarrhea is a gift from God" #Blessed
\-Twitter
"If I see one more cat antic I'll die from joy! And I'm pumped about dying because death is great! So here's one more!"
\-Reddit
Posts of this type continued until the internet ceased to function, at least to the public at large, in the mid 2020s. As far as we know there was no public outcry when this occurred.
Death rates across the world skyrocketed in the decade following the Great Implosion of 2020. We can easily infer that medicine was no longer practiced anywhere in the world, and people likely began to die from a variety of easily treatable illnesses. More serious disease likely spread as bodies accumulated in homes and streets, since no funerals were performed. Starvation and dehydration likely further contributed to the death toll. Along with every other aspect of the economy, food production and distribution dwindled to nothing, and the infrastructure needed to supply water eroded with no labor to maintain it.
Fortunately, humans continued to procreate prolifically. Though the infant mortality rate was likely the worst in human history, the babies that survived showed differences from their parents.
"This baby is crying? Why cry when life is so good?" #BabiesAreWeirdButLifeisAwesome
\-Twitter
Many infants died early in life, but some managed to survive to adulthood.
Too few of us, I'm afraid, have made it this far. Most of us had to endure cannibalism in the early years of our lives, though in the adolescence of our generation we rediscovered agriculture. We have formed crude cities atop the skeletons of the old, and we work to re-ignite the spark of civilization, relight the fire that was snuffed out. But one question has plagued us. Why? Why did it happen?
One tweet, sent at 3:34PM on September 4th, 2020 may hold the key to finally unlock this mystery.
"OMG found a magic lamp this morning and wished for everyone in the world to be happy all the time! Your welcome world!" #SoSelfless #YourWelcome #NobelPeacePrizeBitches
\-Twitter
We cannot say the cause was, in fact, metaphysical. But to quote Arthur Conan Doyle, once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. Whatever the exact cause, some force was responsible for changing the emotional reactivity of the entire human species, seemingly en masse. Some of my colleagues refuse the possibility of a jinn as fanciful, and perhaps they are right. Perhaps this unknown sorority girl in Austen, Texas found a powerful piece of alien technology.
Or perhaps it was all simply an inevitability of human evolution, of epigenetics, and latent coding within everyone shifted at once. We may never know for certain. We do know hers was the first positive social media post of the unbroken streak that followed. What we also know is that without the motivation of negative emotion, particularly anxiety and envy, the eight billion people affected by the Great Implosion simply ceased to function as productive members of society.
Fortunately, the generation that has followed them, our generation, is completely miserable. And thank God for that.
&#x200B; | Amsterdam and Venice are reduced to ancient relics of a bygone era, perfectly preserved underwater museums of cobblestone streets and winding canals, now just divots on the ocean floor. Manhattan's streets are waterways, humans inhabiting only the second floor and above, drinking themselves to death as their property values drown in the seething currents.
The giant Jet stream, a hundred mile wide siphon, shifts and creates droughts and storms on a scale never seen before. Heatwaves wipe out wide swaths of the living and cold-spells freeze infrastructure, leaving trains frozen solid in their tracks.
The air shimmers above in a translucent ribbon. Bright sunlight reflects sharply off the windshield as the car shoots through the Outback, making its way across a bubbling tarmac road that stretches for miles. The dashboard screen lights up, interrupting AWOLNATION, altering me to an incoming call.
I relish the air conditioning, just now starting to filter out the oppressive heat. "Hello," I say, pushing a button on my steering wheel.
"Hello," a voice says from everywhere at once, coming out of all of the car's speakers.
"Who is this?," I say as I wind down the dusty road, past dying trees and dead kangaroos.
"Hello Gerald," the voice continues, ignoring the question. "You have the chance to save a doomed world."
"What?" I say, irritated. "I'm going to hang up - I'm driving."
An orange rock face to my left cracks and plunges, spewing bright red dirt across the road. "The cliff to your left just collapsed," the voices says. A sign to my right shoots upwards into the air, cannoned off into the stratosphere. "And that sign just hit Mach 5."
"Okay, okay, I believe you," I say, pieces of my mind strewn across the dashboard. "Holy shit."
The voice is deep and friendly, filled with an authoritative benevolence. "You have one wish."
I'm convinced that I'm dreaming. That the real world waits beyond breakfast and a strong black coffee. "Fuck it," I say. "Might as well play along with it." A wave of altruism comes over me, dead trees spread into the distance on both sides of the road. There are no birds in the air, none able to ride on the hot currents for very long. The ants themselves bake in their nests. "I wish the world went back to the way it was," I say, a broad smile across my face.
"How do you wish that to happen?," the voice says, the tone and tempo of the question encouraging me to answer honestly.
"I want the sun to grow colder and the oceans to recede and be full of plankton again. I want the land to be full of fruit trees and vegetables, teeming with vibrant life," I say, my heart pounding and my ears throbbing with exhilaration, already immersed in that thrilling Utopian world. "For it to be Eden once more!"
And just like that, I altered history.
The world changed. Gradually, but it changed. The oppressive heat became a thing of the past and the animals stopped dying. Humanity rejoiced, millions converting to the worship of Gaia, Earth Mother, their savior once more.
But the change continued and the jungles and forests of the world grew large and menacing, home to cavernous spaces in the undergrowth, and began to encroach on the places where humans thrived. The forest was impervious to all attempts to halt it, as if Earth exercised it's manifest destiny. The animals multiplied and technology failed and the seas grew rich with life.
Mechanization and mass production ceased and supply changes that had been carved out for centuries collapsed, the world collectively shuddering and tightening its belt. Waves of migration, columns of migrants parting dense rows of apple and pear trees, searching a place where their cell phone worked and the toilets flushed.
Humanity devolved into splintered factions, each carving out a corner of the sprawling jungle. Each living, loving and dying in the few spots of sunlight that penetrate dense canopy. | 2019-01-23T12:32:39 | 2019-01-23T11:40:26 | 68 | 15 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. Nuclear weapons. | The species known as Humans came from a distant star, deep within the swirling vortex all other races had avoided. They brought with them many wondrous advancements including advanced healing never before seen within the known galaxy. Though they were diverse, they had no want for war and would help any in need without hesitation as they spread across the stars.
Exploration was the forefront of their minds and had never declared war on anyone. They even created safe havens throughout the galaxy. Freeports, they called them, where anyone was allowed to rest for a spell regardless of their background, profession or allegiance. A no fire zone so to speak. Many species across the galaxy enjoyed their friendly demeanor but also viewed them as mostly harmless. Mostly harmless that is, until the incident of Tau-423.
The Vikonican's were an empire devoted to warring among the stars. They mostly kept their battles between themselves as they fight for glory and power. Every so often though, a particularly good general will win and unit the Vikonicans to focus on other species. One fateful day, Emperor Bragisson united his people and led an attack that completely destroyed one of the freeports.
The Vikonican's then declared war against the humans and began raiding, and destroying, several more freeports over the course of a few months. Every species offered the humans help but they politely declined saying, as quoted, "We got this"
The Tau-423 incident was news that shook the entire galaxy. The humans sent a fleet to the satellite that General Bragisson was commanding from and, in a single day, ended the war.
The humans distracted the Vikonican's with their fleet while sending over a hundred cloaked bombers into the atmosphere. The cloaking alone took us all by surprise as that was technology many had struggled to create. Even so, the cloaking was mostly glossed over in the aftermath of the bombs.
The human's didn't just retaliate, they destroyed the very planet. The atmosphere was blasted away and anything on the plant that wasn't incinerated on impact withered away. For years after, any probe sent to the remains of the planet would malfunction within minutes. Only in recent years have probes exploring the barren surface could send back data. The very planet itself was radiated and dead to the core. Nothing of this magnitude had ever been seen across the galaxy.
The Humans, it seemed, were more powerful, and more terrifying, than anyone could have ever guessed. We can only hope that they continue to keep their friendly demeanor. | The humans sat down for diplomatic relations, as they always had and always will. The envoy for the Coalition of Civilizations sat down at the far end of the long table. The envoy came with seven bodyguards and seven times seven support staff. The humans brought a puppy.
Envoy G'rig burbled out nonsense in its native Fythian concerning the unsuitability of the human's mother for reproduction. Head ambassador Steve of the Terran Federation simply nodded and responded that the universal translators funcitoned quite well. G'rig was mortified, but Steve only thanked him for testing the translators so well.
"What sort of bloodthirsty monsters are you," demanded G'rig, slamming what passed in his culture for a fist on the table, "to produce such horrific weapons?"
"Are you familiar with Terran culture and history?" asked Steve nonchalantly. G'rig snarled. "Obviously not."
"There was an author named Robert E. Howard. He wrote fiction about barbarians, notably about one named Conan. The particular stories don't matter for this conversation, but a quote of his comes to mind. 'Civilized men are more discourteous than savages because they know they can be impolite without having their skulls split, as a general thing.' When you've developed weapons such as these, you become very polite or very dead." | 2020-02-07T13:28:43 | 2020-02-07T13:11:42 | 151 | 72 |
[WP] Stepping out your front door one morning, you trip on the step and fall. Unfortunately, in doing so you crack you head open and die. As you fell you happened to crush a snail which, due to a technicality, turns out to count as dying in battle. You and the snail awaken in Valhalla | Everywhere I look, I see heroes.
War veterans still with their gear, what I can only assume to be Vikings with their battle axes and swords. Hell, even J.F.K is here. Where the fuck am I.
One of the war vets turns to me, he sighs. “Odin! We got another one!”
“Another one! Are you kidding me?” A tall figure starts toward me, wielding a spear with his long beard and a single eye. “You! You there!” He calls, only a short distance away now.
I feel my palms begin to sweat. He’s got a good few inches on me and even his presence is imposing. He’s old but takes swift strides, eventually stopping in front of me.
“How did you die?” He asks, a stern tone with a hint of… annoyance, almost?
“I um—“ And it comes back to me. I was late for work, I had to rush or I’d be late, I’d be fired because it would’ve been my third infraction that week and— the ice. The steps were icy, I must have slipped and… the snail. I glance down and there it is, staring back up at me with a crack in its shell. I’m a fucking idiot.
“Well,” he nags, “how did you get here?”
“I think— I think I slipped?” I shoot another look to the snail, his eyes follow, then it dawns on him.
“And you crushed the snail—“ he lets out a deep, guttural groan.
“I’m— I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean to, I had to get to work and if I was late again I’d be—“
“Enough!” He interrupts, then composes himself again. “Look, this happens more than you’d think. We have a special place for your lot.” He points to a shack with a sign reading ‘The Accidentals’. “Just— just go.” He says with another sigh. “I really need to update the rules for this place…” He mutters as he walks off.
He’s gone by the time I’m able to bring myself to say anything. The snail sits at my feet and I bend to pick it up, cradling it in my hands.
“Well buddy, looks like we’re stuck here.” | "Espera un momento, dejame entender esto" Digo sosteniendo mi frente.
El vikingo suspira. "Ya estamos media hora aquí"
"Lo sé, pero como es posible esto" Señaló el caracol. "Yo no lo mate, el no me mato y no estábamos en ninguna batalla".
El vikingo levantó un portapapeles. Comenzó a abrir la boca.
"¡Que no estábamos en ninguna pelea!"
"Bien" Levanta un teléfono. "Entonces usted era cristiano?"
"Si"
"Bien, si hola el infierno si aquí hay un pecador"
"Espera" Cuelga el teléfono. "Por qué soy un pecador"
"Cometiste un pecado"
"¡¿Cuál pecado?!"
"Asesinato"
"......."
"......"
El vikingo levanta el teléfono.
Tomo al caracol en mis brazos.
"¡Nuestra batalla fue tan epica que el caracol se quedó sin habla, no caracol".
"......"
"Lo ves" Digo con una sonrisa. | 2022-10-16T09:58:09 | 2022-10-16T08:17:39 | 274 | 36 |
[WP]: "I'm not special at all just average," you said. The scientist scans you and replied: "You don't understand, there is no record of you in any other multiverse. All the choices you have made are the only choices available to you." | [First prompt, please go easy on me!]
The doors of the lab open. The room is large. Tables strewn about, with researchers and scientists roaming and rushing about. It smells sterile, almost to a revolting degree. The large equipment around you looks sleek with blue light accenting the nooks and crannies. On the tables are reports, coffee cups, small machines, and parts of projects.
You look to the man leading you, and you ask, "Why am I here again?"
The man answered "because you're an anomaly. Please, step right here." He guided you to a platform. A few steps off the ground with 3 large pillars surrounding the middle. The man started to walk away.
You decided to ask another question, "How am I an anomaly, you litterally just pulled me off the street!" And as you finished your statement, the arms started to rotate around you, slowly at first, but then quickly gaining in speed. The pillars started to glow a faint green light, which as time passed, the light started to look like a cage. You had no choice but to sit there in stunned silence.
After several unnerving minutes, of pillars wooshing past, the machine started to slow down to a halt. The man stepped out from the room he had been in, and looked almost puzzled.
"There's... no record of you in the multiverse."
"What do you mean?"
"We mean that the choices you have made are the only ones available to you... like a prophecy," He mused.
You, never believed in prophecy, fate, or any of the like. This you couldn't believe what you were hearing. "Sir, I think your machine over there may be wrong," you say.
"No. It's not. We've checked. Double checked, and triple checked. Nothing adds-"
Just before the man was about to finish his sentence, a portal, with green light bordering it appears out of nowhere. Three people, clad in sleek blue and grey armor walk out and a fourth in a gold and red hood step out.
"Come with us," the hooded figure says, "It's time you find out what you really are. | “I could choose to punch you in the face right now, but I decided not to,” I replied.
“On the contrary,” said the scientist, “you see, what you think of as decisions are really the result of electro-chemical processes that take place in your brain, so while you may think about different things that your body is physically capable of doing, it’s a foregone conclusion what you will ultimately do.”
“I see. So free will is an illusion then?” I sighed.
“It appears so. At least for you anyway.”
“So I’m just a fleshly automaton? Do I have no soul?”
“That doesn’t follow that you have no soul. Even if you can’t will your body to make any choice besides the one prescribed by your physiology doesn’t mean there is no essence of you which feels the pains and joys of that body. Consider yourself a cosmic observer, reading the novel of your life. On the plus side, don’t feel bad about your failures- there was no other choice you could have made.”
And with that I went home with a new perspective on life. | 2021-01-08T21:20:37 | 2021-01-08T21:01:34 | 109 | 24 |
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself | Call me eccentric. Call me an idiot. Doesn't matter, I've been called both.
See, everybody always ate the food. A bite of quiche, a chunk of apple. A cut of ham or a slice of pie. Not me. They all got the powers you'd expect. Healing from the apple or fire from those hot peppers. That type of thing.
I bit the table. Just a big old chunk out of a mahogany table, teeth be damned.
At first, the council gave me a look that could say nothing other than *what the actual fuck*. And then it dawned on them, about as quickly as it dawned on me.
I wasn't the weirdo anymore. I wasn't the outcast.
I looked at Barry. Oh, Barry. He'd bullied me relentlessly for years, and he'd just grabbed one of those peppers and was preparing to light my pants on fire in front of all my peers.
We couldn't have that now, could we? I channeled my power, not that I had any idea what it'd be. Maybe I'd start flying, high enough to avoid the flames licking towards me. Maybe I'd explode something and cause enough of a distraction.
Barry huffed and puffed--he knew exactly what his power was supposed to be. But no flame came. Not even a wisp of smoke. Stupid as I might have looked biting the table, he looked even more a blowhard as he tried and tried but failed miserably.
"What's happening?" he cried, looking towards the council.
They knew no better than anybody else. But as they thought, using the wisdom bestowed upon them by their bite of the olives, their careful trains of thought derailed and turned to muddled nonsense.
I'd done away with their powers, just like I had with Barry's. The table gave, and the table took away.
That was the power of the table that I'd bit a chunk out of. All of their powers were propped up by mine. And I didn't want them to have any power at all.
****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | The examiner smiles at you.
"Well done for seeing beyond the superficial, and choosing what your heart desires. I have been waiting for this day. Captain Table"
With that bite, you gain the power to turn into an inconspicuous table at will.
People laughed at first, Captain Table is a lame name they said. But the Ministry of Inteligence didn't laugh. Instead, they recruited you.
After your orientation you are taken to see the Director a man you recognize as the examiner.
"Why do you give the tests?"
"Who beter to know exactly what kinds of powers our heroes and villains will have, who better to judge the character of a person than I. You see when I was 16 I took a bite out of a glass, the power it gave me was foresight, but only of people that I can see. I have used this power to move through the ranks, and to protect the world. The second you took a bite out of the table I knew that I had met a kindred spirit, and upon using my foresight I saw that you would become one of my best agents. Able to go anywhere, overhear anything."
Thus began the illustrious career of the worlds best Super Spy
Captain Table. | 2020-03-19T08:13:24 | 2020-03-19T07:02:46 | 9,782 | 388 |
[WP] You've always dreamed of becoming a supervillain when you got your powers, and just because you were bestowed the power of healing doesn't change anything | "Your 1 o clock is ready sir". My PA respectfully withdrew.
***Most kids dream of being hero's. Me? I always put myself in the shoes of the villains.***
Strolling into the brightly lit room I took a look at what I had to work with. I met dull eyes in a deeply lined face.
***They always seemed so much more free. Heroes, everyone's always making demands, like "Help me!"***
I plastered on a fake smile as I reached out, at the same time I let my power flow into his body.
***Even when the heroes give into those demands, they're never happy. Forever haranguing them "you did so much property damage! Couldn't you have saved the city more carefully!"***
I could feel the clogged arteries. I could feel aged tissue and membranes, weak as hope. Small pockets of partly dead tissue in the brain from mini-strokes.
***To me, villains always seemed to have the better deal, if a hero acts like a villain for even a moment they're never forgiven, if a villain acts like a hero for a day on a whim, that's their choice.***
A trifle to my powers. Under my touch arteries cleared, precancerous cells shriveled away ,fresh cells took the place of dying, the fragile skin of a near-corpse became the strong soft skin of a youth, depleted bone marrow regrew and bones strengthened.
***But what's the real point of being a classical villain? They rob banks but the whole point is to have the money to achieve their goals***
The eyes in front of me brightened. Soon I was looking into the a youthful face that had adorned countless PR pieces, one of the worlds richest men.
***When my powers manifested I thought about trying the standard villain thing, punching heroes... but I don't like fighting. I like being rich. Rich as Croesus.***
One of the worlds richest men, but this afternoon he'd taken a tumble down the forbes 500 list. The price of youth and health.
***When you're rich enough you can stand above the dreams of normal villains. While they try kidnap people and rob jewels I buy countries and jewel mines***
A few hours of my time a month. Sold to the absolute highest bidder. At this point I could probably afford to stop even that work... but there's wealth and power even beyond what can be bought with mere money...
***Heroes fight villains in the streets while the truly powerful rule the world***
there's something to be said for having the immortal elite of the world dependent upon you if they want to continue to live forever. | I wiped the sweat off my forehead, the task was done and the patient was stable.
It took alot of work to save someones life, a balance of discovering what was wrong and what needed the most mending.
The fact that i could just lay my hands on someone and perform complex operations with the simplest of thoughts dident change that fact.
I went back to my desk and poured a small glass of bourbon, the patient would be awake soon, and these drinks were my small way of unwinding after completing a procedure.
A low groan was heard behind me, no doubt the patient awakening.
I turn to face them, bound in the metal chair, stark nude.
"Welcome back to the world of the living"
"You bastard, what did you do to me?"
"I simply repaired you, after all, you had many cuts and burns" i set my glass down on the desk and walked towards the metal tray next to them.
"I wont talk, you know this, so just kill me!" he shouted as he tried to spit on me, his head bound in place by leather straps.
"Is that what you think? That i want information from you? Oh hohoho, no no. Im mearly doing this for fun, the information is just a nice bonus"
The colour drains from his face as he realizes whats going on, seeing me study a collection of torture and medical implements.
"I think ill enjoy playing with you, it seems like your mind will last longer than most others"
I pick up and implement and turn towards them, as their screams echo throughout my fortress. | 2019-01-30T06:51:16 | 2019-01-30T05:58:30 | 15 | 10 |
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